


The Wrong Attention

by defying3reason



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has never really felt much of an interest in romance, but when he finally succumbs to his first intellectually debilitating crush he has an unusual impediment in the person of Grantaire. Recent circumstances have sent the man into a downward spiral resulting in worse behavior than ever, and Enjolras is finding it nearly impossible to engage the attention of one friend while avoiding the gropes and awkward jests of the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So...this is probably not going to be the e/R fic you're expecting. Normally I ship these guys like nobody's business, but my muse was in the mood to play with something different and this is what I came up with. Because if you think about it, if Enjolras doesn't like Grantaire back then Grantaire's behavior is just bad news bears all around...

Much to his consternation, Enjolras discovered that he had no idea how to primp.

His good looks were natural, and frustratingly enough to some of his less fortunate friends, entirely effortless on his part. He usually did just roll out of bed with his golden hair cascading to his shoulders in entrancing waves that, for most people, required hours of effort from a stylist or a particularly talented graphic designer in Photoshop. He never suffered from breakouts either. His skin was always the same soft, even shade of fetching paleness. He maintained a pleasing weight and level of musculature with remarkable ease, and clothing himself was always an afterthought. Yet, no matter how little thought he put into his outfits, he always looked confident and attractive in whatever he happened to throw on.

Courfeyrac and Bahorel in particular, who put an endless amount of effort into their physical appearances, found Enjolras’ natural charms frustrating and unfair, since he couldn’t care less about looks. Nature had bestowed that freakish beauty on entirely the wrong recipient. However, all of his friends found his disinterest in his appearance amusing and his tendency to forget how attractive he was to others downright hilarious. They’d seen people walk into walls while distractedly checking Enjolras out. More than once, actually.

Amusement aside, Enjolras still had no practical experience with playing up his looks. He’d made himself appear responsible for the sake of interviews and speaking engagements before, of course, but he’d never tried to be flirty. It was quite a different ballpark, it seemed. Enjolras contemplated his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror in his bathroom, and wondered just what the hell he was supposed to change to switch someone’s perception of him from friendly to that of a potential romantic partner. Social rituals like this had been lightly brushed on in the anthropology classes he’d taken last semester, but little of that information was relevant to 21st century American society. And besides that, he’d paid much less attention to courtship and marriage practices among peoples of the world than he had to cultural institutions that actually interested him, like systems of government and economics.

He had very little knowledge to go on here. Sure, his friends ranted about picking up girls all the time, but he almost never paid attention and had therefore scored very few tips. Enjolras had never thought about making himself appealing sexually before. He didn’t really date, but for the first time in his young life he found himself thinking about asking someone out. Someone had finally caught his eye, and now he found himself regretting his habitual neglect of his natural gift. Supposedly, he was exceptionally good looking. He was charismatic, well spoken, and highly intelligent. In theory, seduction should have been easy.

In practice, Enjolras had no idea what he was doing. And besides that, he couldn’t overwhelm this person exclusively with his looks. He and Combeferre had been friends for far too long for Enjolras being pretty to be news to him in any fashion. What he was looking to do was to somehow change the message. He wanted Combeferre to see him in a different light than how they’d been interacting since they’d met at freshman orientation two years ago. He figured trying to look a little flirtier would help convey the change in dynamic he wanted for their relationship.

Besides his general ignorance and complete inexperience, there was something else tripping Enjolras up in his quest to look seductive. He very much wanted to draw the attention of one friend in particular while avoiding the attentions of another if at all possible.

Grantaire had been one of his closest friends since their clique had formed about halfway through his freshman year. The older, surlier student could be an irritating pest when he wanted to, but he was funny and clever and they’d gotten along despite a difference of temperaments and interests. Despite these differences, there’d always been a good rapport between them, and they’d even spent a fair amount of time alone together off campus, debating politics, lingering around museums and public lectures, and just generally enjoying each other’s company.

Enjolras couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things had started to change. He was pretty sure there hadn’t been one moment in particular to denote the shift in their friendship, but a gradual series of events that made Enjolras less eager to seek out Grantaire’s company. In fact, he’d avoided being alone with the man as much as possible since about the spring semester of his sophomore year.

That was about the time Grantaire had graduated with an art history degree he’d found to be utterly useless. He hadn’t gotten any of the museum gigs he’d interviewed for, he wasn’t even getting called for interviews from the schools he’d hoped to teach at, and his GRE scores were keeping him out of grad school. He was drowning in debt and he couldn’t find a job that paid higher than minimum wage. It was a lot to deal with, and Enjolras had tried to be sympathetic. He still chastised himself for being too harsh, but, well, Grantaire’s attitude made that difficult. The guy’d always had a drinking problem and when his life fell apart it got worse.

None of their friends were exactly a fan of Grantaire when he got drunk. He went on long rambling rants and wouldn’t let his friends get a word in edgewise. He got argumentative, his joking banter getting more of a bite than most of them were comfortable with. But no one had it as bad as Enjolras when Grantaire’s intoxication robbed him of his filter. Enjolras was the focal point for Grantaire’s crudeness. Grantaire propositioned him in obnoxiously loud, carrying tones, and then sarcastically complimented Enjolras on the angry flush of his perfect marbled skin. He dropped to his knees and suggestively offered to clean Enjolras’ boots. He harassed, his large hands had a tendency to wander; overall he just generally made the inexperienced virgin of the group as uncomfortable as possible.

Enjolras was pretty sure no one realized Grantaire got under his skin to the extent he did. Their friends realized Grantaire annoyed him, of course. Enjolras made that much obvious. However, his discomfort extended beyond irritation. Grantaire made his skin crawl. He missed the clever friend whose sober comfort he used to seek out on his own, of course, but it had been months since he’d seen Grantaire when he wasn’t staggering around making a drunken fool of himself. Enjolras was starting to fear that the man he’d befriended no longer existed, and the crude oaf he’d been left with was a poor substitute. He now positively dreaded Grantaire’s company and desperately wished their friends would leave him to pickle his brains in solitude rather than drag him out of his decrepit hole of an apartment and force his unpleasant company on others.

Enjolras was pretty sure that Grantaire would sexually harass him even if he waltzed into the Musain in a burka. However, he was pretty sure playing up his own sexuality would make the drunk’s behavior worse. Figuring out how to draw Combeferre’s attention without provoking Grantaire’s was proving to be more of a challenge than Enjolras was up to.

Well, maybe he’d be lucky. Maybe Grantaire wouldn’t be at the Musain this time.

Enjolras was nothing if not an optimist. He finally selected a pair of jeans that accentuated the curve of his ass, along with a thin jersey with quarter length sleeves and a low collar that called attention to his graceful neck and bared throat. He let his curls pool down to his shoulders, not bothering with any further attempts to style his hair. He was pretty sure his hair knew what it was doing without any intervention on his part. He looked good, and he wasn’t interested in hiding that from Combeferre.

However, Enjolras wasn’t so optimistic as to be blinded from the reality of a situation. He brought along a bulky sweatshirt, just in case he needed to hide at least a little from Grantaire’s lecherous gaze.

* * *

Enjolras sent out a group text as he was leaving his apartment, asking his friends if any of them needed a ride to the Musain. He was one of the only college students and recent grads with a car, and even though none of them had to commute very far to get to their preferred hangout, he still liked to ask. Feuilly, for one, suffered from back problems thanks to an old injury from a factory job he’d worked in his teen years, and he suffered stoically. The Musain was a twenty minute walk from his apartment or a forty minute walk from the gas station he worked at. If Enjolras was careful not to seem too charitable about it, he sometimes managed to drive Feuilly to and from their meetings.

Unfortunately, the usual takers were typically just Courfeyrac, Marius, and Bahorel, none of whom ever really needed a ride. And Grantaire, of course, tried to get one even though he lived around the corner from the Musain.

And of course, the friend Enjolras really wanted to see in his passenger seat rarely took him up on the offer. But the rare occasions Combeferre did ride in with him were special treats and Enjolras could recall each one vividly, even though they were probably entirely unremarkable incidents to Combeferre.

Enjolras had a few texts waiting for him by the time he finished the short walk from the front of his building to his parking space in the lot. He checked through his texts and found a polite decline from Feuilly (but thankfully he was getting a ride in with Joly and Prouvaire instead), a decline from Bahorel, who was actually already at the Musain, and a request from Courfeyrac. Enjolras figured picking up Courfeyrac entailed getting Marius as well, unless the kid was ditching out on them for that teenager he liked to stalk through the city commons again.

There was also a chance Grantaire would be with them. Enjolras took a deep breath, reminded himself that there was no reason to let the man get to him like this, that the mere possibility of his company shouldn’t make his skin crawl, and he got into his car.

He pulled up in front of Courfeyrac’s building about ten minutes later and found his friend waiting for him on the front stoop. To his dismay, Grantaire was slouched on the lowest step, almost invisible in the folds of his enormous, tattered old sweatshirt. One of his skeletal hands was clutching an unlabeled water bottle, which was never a good sign.

Courfeyrac waved at Enjolras, then prodded Grantaire’s back with the toe of his sneaker. Grantaire stirred, and when he staggered to his feet Courfeyrac snatched the water bottle from him and tossed it in the garbage bin at the end of the sidewalk. Courfeyrac got into the front seat, and Grantaire sprawled over the back.

“Where’s Marius?” Enjolras asked. He pulled back into traffic, doing an admirable job of outwardly keeping his cool. Inwardly, he was tense and anxious for whatever his proximity to Grantaire was going to entail during the drive to the Musain.

“I think you know where he is,” Courfeyrac answered with a grin. “Walking laps around the commons so he can dreamily gaze at his little school girl. It’s really kind of creepy, if you stop and think about it for too long.”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “I’d thought it was kind of creepy from the outset, actually.”

“The kid’s just appreciating her beauty. Besides, little Marius is too timid to ever actually talk to the school girl,” Grantaire pointed out. “If she wasn’t friggin’…sixteen or whatever, it wouldn’t be creepy at all.”

Enjolras turned up the volume to the radio and faded the sound more towards the back rather than engaging in that conversation topic. Frankly, he found Marius’ blatant stalking of an underage girl plenty creepy, and was grateful that the kid’s gentle nature prevented him from actually acting on his sketchy impulses. From what Courfeyrac said though, the girl had a protective looking guardian, a surly old man Courfeyrac had nicknamed the Q-Tip because of his white hair, and the Q-Tip had definitely noticed the awkward college kid who gazed lovingly at his young charge day after day after day. If Marius was making the girl uncomfortable with his, albeit quiet attentions, the Q-Tip would intervene.

Grantaire put up with the loud music shutting him out of conversation for a block or two, then he leaned forward and rested his arms on the back of Enjolras’ seat. “Stick up your ass already, Enj? S’a little early. I could always replace it with something more enjoyable.”

“Put your seatbelt on,” Enjolras ground out through gritted teeth. Courfeyrac pointedly kept his gaze trained out the window, pretending to hear nothing of the exchange.

“Y’know, if you’re that eager to have me in restraints I’d be more than happy to oblige.” Grantaire leaned further forward, his hot, SoCo tinged breath hitting Enjolras’ neck. “The circumstances just need to be a bit more…private.”

Enjolras made a sharp turn, sending Grantaire crashing into the door. He let out a pained groan and hefted himself into a sitting position. “Feel like wearing your seatbelt yet?”

“What?” Grantaire yelled, not being able to make out Enjolras’ controlled, icy tones with the speakers faded almost completely to the backseat. It was probably dickish of him to make a sudden stop, but Enjolras was already ticked off and he couldn’t help himself. This time Grantaire, already inebriated enough for his coordination to be shot, bounced off of Enjolras’ seat and landed in a heap on the floor of the car.

“Argh. I think I bruised my fucking…ow. Can you fucking stop that and gimme a chance to get buckled? Fucking Christ.”

Courfeyrac shot Enjolras an irritated look. While Grantaire heaved himself into a sitting position and fumbled with the seatbelt, Courfeyrac turned down the volume of the music. Enjolras was tempted to turn it right back up again, but he resisted the petty impulse.

Besides, they were almost at the Musain already. In about five minutes Enjolras could speed walk into the café, leaving Grantaire to stumble along after him, and he’d claim a seat ringed by their other friends, hopefully leaving at least a few chairs between him and Grantaire’s grabby hands. He could put up with having Grantaire in close quarters for five more minutes.

Grantaire leaned forwards and rested his arms against Enjolras’ seat once more despite the minor encumbrance of the seatbelt, letting the strap dig painfully against his skin rather than miss an opportunity to make Enjolras’ skin crawl with his sickening breath.

“You’re showing some skin tonight, Enj. What’s the occasion?”

Courfeyrac started at this. “He’s not…hey yeah, for you a low collar is showing skin. Enjolras! Are you finally embracing the existence of your own sexuality? Aw…this is precious. I need to thoroughly document the occasion on social media.”

“The hell you do!” Enjolras shot out a hand and blindly snatched Courfeyrac’s phone just before he could snap a picture. He pocketed it, and smacked Courfeyrac’s hand when he tried to grab it back.

“Thief.”

“You can have it back at the end of the meeting. I’d been thinking of instituting a ban on cell phones during meetings anyway, as most of your attention spans leave something to be desir-Grantaire, really, could you please sit back? Your breath is nauseating.”

“Dude, that’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?” Courfeyrac asked. Grantaire looked something like a kicked puppy when he complied with Enjolras’ request. For the remaining few minutes’ drive, he kept his head resting dejectedly on the window.

Feeling flustered and defensive, Enjolras remained quiet, and pointedly walked ahead of Courfeyrac and Grantaire as soon as they were parked in the lot behind the Musain. Maybe Courfeyrac was right. Maybe he had been unduly harsh about the way Grantaire was crowding his space. The man certainly didn’t mean to be the pest he was.

Part of the reason the situation made Enjolras so uncomfortable was because he knew that underneath his slovenly belligerent and lecherous exterior, Grantaire was a good man. He was unhappy, and he had terrible coping mechanisms, but he was capable of being a wonderful friend. Enjolras didn’t mean to continually wound him and thus exacerbate the problem, but he also didn’t think it was fair for him to just put up with being harassed so much because ‘underneath it all’ Grantaire was still a good person who must not really mean it. It was a shit situation to be in, and there were no clear or easy answers.

Bahorel and Combeferre were waiting for them at their usual pushed together tables, and they both turned and nodded a greeting at Enjolras when he walked in. Bahorel kept going with some anecdote he was relating, but Combeferre’s brow wrinkled in concern and he dropped the thread of the conversation.

“Enjolras, are you all right? You look a bit…” He didn’t get around to explaining just how Enjolras looked, distracted by Courfeyrac and Grantaire’s entrance. Grantaire was scowling with one arm curled protectively around himself, and Courfeyrac was overcompensating for the awkwardness he’d witnessed by being almost aggressively cheerful. Combeferre nodded and looked at Enjolras with an expression of understanding. “Why don’t you sit over here with me?”

“Thank you.” Enjolras took the open seat at the corner of the table, right next to Combeferre’s. He couldn’t help but feel some disappointment that his anxious hour of preparation for a dynamic-changing new look and entrance had been drowned out by his continued difficulties with Grantaire.

The seat at the head of the table, on Enjolras’ other side, was still open. Grantaire seemed to be considering it, but Courfeyrac gave him a decisive tug on the arm that brought him to the exact opposite end of the table, for which Enjolras was grateful. He started to relax a little bit, and joined in on Combeferre and Bahorel’s conversation. They were just complaining about their classes, but it was relaxing banter and infinitely more pleasant than what had passed as conversation during his ride into the café.

All too soon the others trickled in, and then it was time to get things started. Enjolras shifted from the role of friend to leader and did his best to keep their discussion on point, in this instance organizing a letter writing campaign. Grantaire made his usual attempts to get them off track, but he was more aggressively countered by the other friends than usual. Typically they just let him ramble himself to silence. Perhaps his messy spectacle had finally grown as tiring to everyone else as it had to Enjolras.

He thought Courfeyrac might have been kicking Grantaire under the table but it was hard to be certain, not least of all because Enjolras was avoiding making eye contact with that end of the table whenever possible.

After an hour or so their work for the night was accomplished, and the larger clique fractured into its smaller components for the sake of socialization. Enjolras packed up his things, wondering what conversation topic he should best pursue in light of his goals towards Combeferre. He was taken off guard by Combeferre opening the conversation before he was ready.

“So…are you up to anything fun and exciting this weekend?”

“Actually, yes. I’m attending a public lecture and documentary screening on the Loving v. Virginia Supreme Court case. An expert is going to expound on the similarities between the former bans on interracial marriage and the current barriers to full marriage equality throughout the country.” Shit. That hadn’t been the right thing to say at all. Trying to recover his composure, Enjolras struggled to save the conversation. “Um, but that’s obviously only one…one activity. Why? What are you doing this weekend?”

Smooth, that. No wonder he’d been single for so god damned long.

Combeferre continued to look warm and reassuring, and Enjolras’ embarrassment over his stammering immediately ceased. His friend had such a wonderful looking smile…even the subtle little ones where you didn’t see his perfect teeth, though of course the expansive, toothy smiles were the best…

“That actually sounds rather interesting. Can I tag along with you to the lecture and screening? I was just looking to see if you’d want to meet up for coffee and group study with me.”

One-on-one studying with Combeferre sounded heavenly. Whereas they did spend a ridiculous amount of time in cafés with books in front of them, usually they had several of their other friends with them also demanding attention. To have that calm, grounding gaze focused solely on him (well, and a pile of intimidating looking medical and philosophy text books, but still…)

“Could we do both?” Enjolras asked, hoping his voice sounded steadier than his racing pulse suggested it might have.

“I see no reason why we-”

“Enjolras, you never bought your drink.” Grantaire plopped into Bossuet’s recently vacated chair, putting himself next to Enjolras and neatly cutting Combeferre off. “That’s just rude, y’know. Using this place as a gathering and not paying your table rent.”

“Mm, well luckily enough from the looks of it, you’ve supplied enough table rent to cover everyone else in the group,” Enjolras snapped. There were four empty bottles in front of Grantaire’s former chair at the other end of the table, and he had a fifth clutched in his hand.

Grantaire shrugged. “I was just offering to buy you a drink. You don’t need to be so bitchy about it.”

Enjolras rubbed at his eyes. “If I wanted a drink I’d have one. I’m more than capable of getting one myself.”

“Was just trying to be nice. I, uh…guess I’ll leave you two alone. You looked pretty cozy.” There was an accusative sting in the drunk’s words. For once, he chose not to elaborate and merely slunk off to continue his self-destruction in privacy. Enjolras watched him leave, feeling an odd mix of annoyance and shame at his own behavior. It seemed like Grantaire was just attempting to be friendly, but Enjolras was so prepared for unwanted advances that he saw them when they weren’t actually there.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a steady hand on his arm. Combeferre gazed at him with some sympathy, and Enjolras felt less ashamed. “I’m sorry, Enjolras. He’s certainly making things rather difficult for you, isn’t he?”

Enjolras pressed his lips together, and finally nodded. There seemed little sense in denying the truth of the statement, though he didn’t want to talk about it.

He cast his eyes around the room, then slung his bag over his shoulder as he stood. “I think I’m just going to head out now. I’ll be in touch about the lecture.” He half expected Combeferre to call out to him, ask him to stay, or perhaps walk him to his car so he’d have a chance to privately speak with him and check that Enjolras actually was okay. He’d seemed awfully concerned about him…

But Combeferre politely wished him goodnight, then went to join Jehan and Joly instead.

Enjolras went home, studied his reflection once more in his bathroom mirror, and gave a worrying amount of time over to the consideration of shaving his head. Getting rid of his hair, or any attempts at disfiguration, probably wouldn’t deter Grantaire though. His looks weren’t the reason the obnoxious drunk had fixated on him, and they weren’t going to help him pursue the man he was interested in.

Enjolras went to his room, threw himself on his bed, and reflected with some irritation on how much easier things had been before he’d noticed his damned inconvenient crush.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all that feedback on the last chapter, guys! You're awesome :) Here's some Grantaire perspective, and I even managed to get into Combeferre's head for a little while too (he's being annoyingly mysterious in this fic so far). I've got a few more ideas for this one, but I'm not expecting it to go super long like some of my other works. Maybe three or four more chapters, and then back to work on the CB&HSG 'verse and the other fics I've left hanging. 
> 
> Thanks again for the lovely comments. I was actually expecting a lot of grief for writing a sketchy Grantaire, so it's been a pleasant surprise to be encouraged along instead.

Grantaire slunk out of the Musain and went out back for a smoke. He was hoping to wallow in self-pity for a few minutes before making the rounds with his friends, and then figuring out if he’d be able to get a ride or if he’d have to walk back to his place. At least it wasn’t far if it came down to it. His favorite thing about the Musain was that it was stumbling distance from his apartment.

He’d just managed to get his cigarette lit, which wasn’t enough time for more than a couple of self-indulgent thoughts, when he was joined by one of his friends. Grantaire took a slow drag off his cig, then raised his eyes to determine whether he was going to be getting sympathy, a lecture, or a bit of both.

His found himself looking up at Combeferre’s disapproving eyes and inwardly cursed. Lecture then, and a damned effective one because only Jehan was better at making him feel ashamed of himself than Combeferre.

Plus there was the little issue of the nagging bitterness and jealousy that came with looking at Combeferre’s stupid fucking face just then.

Okay to be fair, nothing about the kid’s face was stupid. Combeferre was quite possibly the smartest guy Grantaire knew, which was probably why Enjolras was infatuated with him. He was a good looking guy too. Not unearthly pretty like Enjolras. Not distractedly-walk-into-walls pretty, but handsome enough to turn a few heads. Certainly more attractive than Grantaire. Not that Enjolras was shallow, but a pleasing exterior to match all the guy’s other good traits certainly didn’t hurt.

For his part, Grantaire knew he looked like the festering sore he was on the inside. Everything about him rightfully repulsed Enjolras. Really, he had no reason to be bitter towards Combeferre. He deserved Enjolras’ attention and he was the best candidate for making the guy happy. Grantaire didn’t stand a chance of being able to do that. But he was only human and he still _wanted_. Desperately, did he fucking want.

“Grantaire, we need to talk.” Though something in the pinch of Combeferre’s brow looked disapproving, his voice was nicely neutral. The consideration only served to make Grantaire feel worse about himself.

He defensively shuffled a little further away from Combeferre and kept his eyes down. “Do we gotta do it now? M’not in the best state for a deep conversation.”

“You haven’t been sober enough for a deep conversation while in my company for about three months. I’ve gotten tired of waiting for an opportunity that’s not going to come. Besides, you hold your alcohol rather better than you’d like people to notice. I have the feeling that you’ll remember more of this conversation than some might expect.”

Grantaire sighed but didn’t say anything. He took another drag off his cigarette and then watched Combeferre, resigned to his fate and hoping to get it over with quickly.

Combeferre frowned. “You’ve got to ease up on Enjolras. I can’t tell if you just haven’t noticed how uncomfortable you’re making him, or if you know and you just don’t care. I like to think you’re a better person than that, but honestly, with the way you’ve been lately nothing would really surprise me anymore.”

“I know…I know, and I do care but…it’s, like…like I can’t control myself when I’m around him anymore. It’s a shit excuse, I know it is. I really can’t help it though.”

“You’re miserable so you want to force that on others as well?” Combeferre asked, no judgment discernible in his tone. From the sounds of it, he just wanted to get to the bottom of things. The guy had an amazingly level temper. If their situations were reversed, and Combeferre had been behaving like an asshole towards one of Grantaire’s friends, he certainly wouldn’t be kind and collected like this.

Grantaire sighed and shook his head. “The last thing I want to do is make him miserable.”

“Then what are you even trying to do?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“It’s clear you want his attention, but you must know that this isn’t the way to do it.” Combeferre’s eyes reflected some sympathy, which Grantaire hadn’t expected. Combeferre and Enjolras were pretty close even without any romantic entanglements; Grantaire was waiting for the guy to threaten him to shape up on his friend’s behalf, but apparently there was more to it than that. If Combeferre was still worried about Grantaire and Enjolras equally…huh.

He must not have noticed that Enjolras had the hots for him. If he had, and he returned Enjolras’ feelings then even tempered good friend or not, he’d have been ticked with Grantaire. And if he’d noticed and didn’t return Enjolras’ feelings (a scenario Grantaire could barely wrap his mind around, because how could _anyone_ not be interested in Enjolras) then he’d find the entire thing so uncomfortable that he’d want to keep as much distance as possible from the both of them and this conversation.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Is there anything I can do to help you right now? There’s nothing I can think of. You already know the issues with what you’re doing. You seem fully aware that it’s not fair to Enjolras to harass him this way. I don’t know what the next step is in resolving this.”

Grantaire stubbed out his cigarette and stuck what remained of it back in his carton. He turned a sarcastic, crooked smile at his friend. “Believe me, when I figure out how to keep a lid on my obnoxiousness I’ll let you know. Thanks for trying, ‘Ferre. A lesser man would be pounding my stupid head into the pavement.”

“We both know that won’t solve anything. I did have one idea though.”

“Yeah? I’m open to suggestions.”

Combeferre hesitated before speaking. He watched Grantaire carefully, reluctant to overstep the bounds of his friendly concern. “I’d noticed, well, we’ve all noticed how unhappy you’ve been. You’ve been drinking more, which certainly isn’t helping your issues with Enjolras. I was thinking that anything I might do to help you feel more secure might-”

“That’s a nice thought, but there’s nothing you can do to turn my toilet paper degree into something useful. Y’know, unless you’ve got a time machine stashed away somewhere so we can jump my younger self and tell him not to be such a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want to grow into a fuckup like me.”

“I was thinking I could tutor you for your GREs. If you improve your scores you can get into a decent grad program, your loans will be deferred, and then you can graduate with a more competitive degree. You’ll also have a few more years to network, which will also help you get a job in the field you have a passion for. You, Grantaire, the world’s most obnoxious and outspoken cynic, actually feel passionate about something worth pursuing. I actually do think you’re on the right track with art history. You talk about it often enough, and given the right tools, you could be really successful with it. Anyway, actually prepping for the GREs couldn’t hurt.”

“Uh…” Grantaire felt more than a little thrown. He was mostly stuck on the part where Enjolras’ crush wanted to help him out, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the part where Combeferre could actually help him out, like a lot. Grantaire had kicked ass at all things English on the GREs, which was the story of his life when it came to standardized tests, but his math scores verged on the mentally subnormal (again, the story of his life for standardized tests). The programs he was looking at might not have cared about the math GREs so much, but they were competitive enough to be looking for reasons to exclude people, and scores as low as his would certainly do that. But Combeferre kicked ass at all things academic, math included, and he was empathetic and patient enough to be really good at breaking those things down for other people. He’d be an amazing tutor.

But if Combeferre solved this for him, then he wouldn’t be able to blame the GREs, his debt, his shitty academic decisions, and his poverty for the pervading unhappiness that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d have to confront his actual issues, and Grantaire wasn’t prepared to do that.

Combeferre looked mildly exasperated. “Take some time to think it over, at least. It’s not a bad plan, ‘Taire.”

“I’ll think about it,” Grantaire said, because that would certainly be the case whether he wanted it to be or not.

* * *

Ultimately, Grantaire agreed to be tutored not because he cared about improving his life in any meaningful way, but because he thought spending more time with Combeferre might lead to spending more time with Enjolras. Enjolras was pretty much the only thing that got Grantaire out of bed most mornings (technically afternoons) these days anyway. The hope of seeing the radiant young man for at least a few minutes any given day was worth suffering through it.

Grantaire texted Combeferre about his decision Sunday afternoon. He’d overheard Combeferre and Enjolras talking about going to a lecture or something that weekend, had creeped Facebook to determine that they were going on Saturday, and so figured Sunday would be the better day to get a start on his tutoring. Plus he had Sunday off work, so all he really had to worry about was staying sober long enough to take in any math lessons Combeferre might teach him. Able tutor or not, getting that shit to stick in his brain was still going to be an uphill battle.

Grantaire got dressed, forced down some toast and stopped himself at one Sam Adams for his breakfast, then contemplated his squalid surroundings. He half-heartedly considered tidying up the place, then dismissed the thought entirely. Combeferre was a nice guy, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t do the study sessions at Grantaire’s apartment, not when the brightly lit and cleanly Musain was only around the corner. He flopped onto his couch instead and started doodling in a notebook that wasn’t quite nice enough to be a sketchpad while he waited for an answer to his text.

He got far enough into his idle sketch to determine that he was once more drawing Enjolras despite every intention to do otherwise when his phone chimed with a text. Combeferre had invited him to a café by the college campus for the study session. Grantaire scowled; that one was just around the corner from the library, which meant Combeferre was likely loaded down with large and unpleasant books. They were going to get right into this whole conquering math thing then.

Grantaire scowled when he typed out his reply, that he’d be there in a few minutes, and reluctantly pulled on his tattered old hoodie and a pair of sneakers he desperately needed to replace before the soles fell off completely. He’d almost bought new ones the other day, but had opted for his pack of Sam Adams instead.

Reacquainting himself with the low level algebra that had almost prevented him from graduating high school was one of the last things Grantaire felt like doing, especially since it would be in preparation for newer and scarier forms of math. However, he’d had his fill of stewing in his own filth and drunkenly pining for the respect and love of a man he didn’t deserve. Combeferre was right; enough was enough.

Mostly sober, struggling in the throes of his depression, but wanting to be at least a little better, Grantaire set out for the café.

* * *

 

Combeferre was finding it next to impossible to get any homework done. He’d brought along the worst of his readings, a paper he needed to revise, and a pack of blank index cards in the hopes of outlining a looming presentation. He actually really needed to get as much of his work done as possible, and granted group-studies weren’t always super productive, but if he picked the right friends then sometimes studying at a café was even more productive than locking himself in his room.

He and his friends group-studied all the time. He had it down to a science, dammit. He’d carefully selected a study partner as nerdy as he was in the hopes that seeing his friend busily working on his own schoolwork would keep Combeferre motivated. This wasn’t Bahorel or Bossuet or Courfeyrac he was studying with. He was studying with _Enjolras_ , one of the only other students as driven as Combeferre himself was.

So why wasn’t the kid shutting up for more than two minutes at a time? They’d been at the café for nearly an hour and Enjolras hadn’t even unpacked his books yet. He was uncharacteristically chatty, and it was just odd. They’d gone to the lecture the night before and gotten dinner afterwards, which had given them over an hour’s worth of discussion on the merits of the documentary and speaker. Enjolras was circling over points they’d already discussed and it was starting to grate at Combeferre’s nerves.

He did his best to keep his annoyance hidden. Enjolras had become rather socially subdued lately, at least when they were in group settings. When he wasn’t organizing his friends he was generally holding himself in check or trying to avoid Grantaire’s unwanted advances. Maybe the verbal diarrhea was just a response to feeling comfortable in a social setting for the first time in months.

He got Grantaire’s text while Enjolras was repeating something about sympathetic plaintiffs he’d already said at least three times already. Initially Combeferre decided not to answer Grantaire until he and Enjolras had finished studying together. It seemed beyond insensitive to invite Grantaire to join them, considering how strained Enjolras looked whenever the kid was around. He seemed relaxed, even a tad exuberant, and even though it was a tad annoying, there was a niceness to it as well.

But Combeferre really wanted to get some work done, and if he wasn’t going to be doing his own homework then getting a start on prepping Grantaire for the GREs was at least a productive distraction. Combeferre picked up his phone and cut Enjolras off while he made his fifth reiteration of the sympathetic plaintiff point. “Do you mind if someone else joins us?”

Enjolras faltered, looking oddly disappointed. That must have been why Combeferre thought he’d said Grantaire’s name specifically. Even some days later, when Enjolras called him out on it, he was sure he’d mentioned Grantaire by name. But according to Enjolras he didn’t, and Enjolras reluctantly nodded and moved his sweatshirt and bag off of the third chair at their table to make room for an additional study partner.

He was noticeably quieter after that, though his attention wasn’t really on the books he finally took out of his backpack. In fact, every time Combeferre looked up from his own textbook he found Enjolras’ gaze suddenly darting back to the books, a slight flush creeping over his pale skin as though he’d been caught at something.

Huh. His friend was acting downright bizarre. Enjolras was usually a lot more composed than that. Combeferre couldn’t help but wonder what it was the kid was trying to read. It must have been a bizarre assignment.

Grantaire shuffled in after about twenty minutes of this, looking disheveled and reeking of smoke, but with alert eyes and a shaky smile on his thin lips. Combeferre was relieved to see him, and heartened by his sobriety. It was definitely a good sign.

Enjolras, on the other hand, turned ashen. His eyes widened as he shrunk further back in his seat. He didn’t actually say anything, but his expression was eloquent enough. The ‘what are you doing here’ was easily heard despite not being spoken.

Grantaire knew he made Enjolras uncomfortable. He’d admitted as much to Combeferre. Clearly though, he’d never realized how bad it was. He looked heartbroken when he saw Enjolras recoil from his mere presence, and the greeting he’d been attempting died on his lips.

Combeferre wasn’t quite sure what to say. He was saved the necessity by Enjolras climbing to his feet and hastily shoving his books back into his bag. “I just realized…I actually left a book I need back at my apartment. I’ll never get this paper written without it so I’d better…better take off. Um. I’ll see you both tomorrow at the Musain though, right?”

“Enjolras…” Combeferre trailed off, not sure what to follow that up with. Perhaps it was best to allow his friend the dignity of his obvious lie.

Grantaire didn’t give him that option. “Look, you don’t have to leave. I’ll leave. I can start this studying thing some other time. You guys were obviously having…uh, nerd-fun. I’ll go.” Grantaire touched Enjolras’ arm, intending to steer him back towards his seat, and Enjolras jerked away from him. He darted aside, getting the table between them.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he ground out before stalking out of the café with his head down.

Grantaire looked lost. Combeferre gently guided him into Enjolras’ vacated seat. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Oh my fucking god, ‘Ferre. He hates me, doesn’t he?” In truth, Enjolras hadn’t reacted terribly differently from usual. He was a bit more emotional; usually the guy was colder and more controlled, but the desire to keep his distance from Grantaire was nothing new. Apparently the reaction was more striking without the fog of alcohol to insulate Grantaire from the sting of his beloved’s disdain.

“I don’t think he hates you, Grantaire…not exactly. But perhaps you could take this experience as something of a wakeup call?”

Grantaire nodded, still distantly watching after the doorway even though Enjolras was already gone. “Shit. I didn’t mean to…shit.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Uh, y’know what, somehow I don’t think studying’s going to happen just now. M’gonna…m’gonna take off.”

“Grantaire.” Combeferre placed a hand on his agitated friend’s arm. “Don’t. Don’t make the situation worse. Stay here with me, calm down, and keep your mind clear for the rest of the night. We don’t have to hit the books just yet, but you shouldn’t run off to your bottle. This is an opportunity.”

“Did you see the look on his face, ‘Ferre? He hates me more than capitalism. I can’t do this. I need to, I need to stop thinking about how I fucking repulse the only guy I ever…shit.” Grantaire turned so that he was facing the wall, slouched over as his eyes watered. “People are gonna fucking stare at me. Can you let go of my arm? I need to go.”

“Okay. But I’m going with you.”

Grantaire snatched his arm away from Combeferre and hugged his sides. “Why?”

“Because I can’t in good conscience leave you alone like this. Just give me a minute to pack up my things. We’ll go for a drive, and then you and I are going to have a conversation.”

Grantaire nodded. He muttered a dismal “thank you” and once Combeferre had his books and things sorted he slouched after him out of the café.

* * *

Enjolras had left his apartment in excellent spirits, but returned feeling decidedly dismal.

For starters, he’d embarrassed himself spectacularly. He could see Combeferre, who normally possessed endless patience, getting more and more irritated with him as time went on, but something in his brain just kept malfunctioning and he kept talking and talking about absolutely _nothing_. He’d been reduced to the level of a stammering idiot, albeit a stammering idiot with a damned good vocabulary. That alone would have been enough to sour his good mood.

He was having a difficult time even processing Grantaire’s unexpected appearance. Of all the people Combeferre could have asked along…and why had he done it? Combeferre clearly wasn’t aware of the romantic fantasies Enjolras had attached to him, but he’d seemed genuinely concerned about Enjolras’ well-being as a friend. On one of the few occasions when Enjolras had been safe from his lecherous shadow, why had Combeferre dragged him out? How could he do that to him?

Enjolras kicked off his shoes with enough force to send them crashing into the door of his coat closet. He threw his bag after them, and stomped his way into the living room, mad at the world, mad at Grantaire, and mad at himself for being so hurt by something so trivial.

He gave a surprised start when he saw that his couch was occupied. “What are you doing here?”

Courfeyrac was sitting at one end of the couch, scrolling through his phone and looking about as casual and relaxed as someone could when they’d abused an emergency spare key for an unannounced visit. He was wearing Enjolras’ slippers and he’d poured himself a glass of chocolate soy milk. Jehan was on the other end, though he’d stretched out so that his feet were resting in Courfeyrac’s lap. He was reading through Enjolras’ copy of the Haymarket Books catalogue, which meant he’d likely rifled through Enjolras’ mail.

“Hello, dear.” Jehan sat up properly and set the catalogue on the coffee table. “Oh, Enjolras. You look a bit flushed. Are you feeling all right?”

“I told you he wasn’t. That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, yes, but I wanted to express my concern.” Jehan turned a sympathetic gaze Enjolras’ way. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras snapped, which was, frustratingly enough, the truth. Absolutely nothing of note had happened that day. He’d failed to give Combeferre any sort of hint at his feelings and only served to represent himself as an absent minded pest, which was followed up by what should have been the thoroughly unremarkable entrance of a mutual friend. But since Enjolras was so worked up, he’d turned Grantaire’s mere presence into a catastrophe.

The annoying drunk hadn’t even done anything. Apparently just being in the same room was enough to set Enjolras off at this point.

Courfeyrac crossed his arms over his chest. “Kay, dude, something’s definitely gotten under your skin. Sorry, _someone_.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes into something that wasn’t quite a glare, but was definitely in the right ballpark. “So you have noticed?”

“Dude, everyone’s noticed. It’s awkward as ass.”

“Just so you know, Enjolras, nobody approves of how Grantaire’s been treating you,” Jehan said.

Enjolras thought of the way his friends pretended not to hear what Grantaire said to him, the way they changed the subject rather than calling him out, the way no one ever saw Grantaire’s hands wander or objected to him crowding Enjolras’ space. He thought of the disgruntled looks Courfeyrac threw his way when he tried to assert some boundaries, and the disappointed stares Jehan wore when Enjolras’ frustration got the best of him and he cut Grantaire down.

“Uh huh,” he remarked, tone dry and gaze hard.

“We haven’t spoken up as much as we could,” Courfeyrac admitted, “but that’s because we don’t want to make the situation worse. But clearly we’ve got to do something, because putting space between you guys at tables and cutting him off isn’t working. And he’s spiraling even worse now. His drinking’s out of fucking control. I’m really worried about him. I know you aren’t, but-”

“Excuse me? Just because I am, and I think justifiably, uncomfortable around Grantaire doesn’t mean I’ve ceased caring about him. I don’t want him to be hurt,” Enjolras said. “I can’t stand him right now and I hate that. We used to be close. I…I miss him.”

“Me too,” Jehan said. “I think we’re all in agreement there. Enjolras…how much do you know about Grantaire’s feelings for you?”

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?” He knew Grantaire had fixated on him, and the guy’s carnal interests were pretty firmly established. Was Jehan implying there was more to it than that?

Courfeyrac arched his brow in some surprise. He gave himself a little shake, then reached into his pocket. “Kay, I guess I owe you twenty bucks.”

“I never agreed to the bet, Courfeyrac.” Jehan smacked the proffered twenty away and returned his attention to Enjolras. “Grantaire’s in love with you, dear. He has been for years.”

“Love?” Enjolras shook his head, thrown off balance by Jehan’s words. “No, that’s…that’s not what this is. If it were love he wouldn’t be treating me like this.”

“It’s gotten kinda creepy and awful, but it definitely started out as love,” Courfeyrac insisted. “I was the first one he confided that little jewel too. You shoulda seen him, Jehan, he was frickin’ adorable. All starry eyed and smiling like an idiot and embarrassed as fuck. He kept saying that Enjolras was going to ruin all his cynic cred.”

“His feelings for you do have a substantial amount of depth, Enjolras.” Jehan’s calm assertion went a lot further in convincing him. Still feeling a bit dazed, Enjolras sat down across from the two of them and tried to collect himself.

“Okay. So his perverted jokes are an ill-conceived attempt to woo me? That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Self-sabotage,” Courfeyrac corrected. “The kid hates himself. He’s convinced you hate him too, and he’s kind of going self-fulfilling prophecy there, as far as I can tell. He didn’t think you’d ever come around on him so he’s never really tried to flirt with you in earnest. And he says that when you’re around his brain pretty much shuts down on him.”

That last part was definitely true.

“Enjolras, if Grantaire had gone about things differently…if he’d had the confidence to speak to you about his feelings instead of trying to push you away like this…is there any chance you might have returned them?” Jehan asked.

Enjolras started to answer, then stopped. He reminded himself not think of the inebriated lech Grantaire had been lately, but thought more of the sarcastic, witty student he’d first met, who ranted about classical art and literature the way Enjolras ranted about social justice. He’d liked Grantaire then.

He’d never loved him though.

Enjolras shook his head. “I’ve never thought of him as anything more than a friend.”

“Are you sure?” Courfeyrac was visibly disappointed. “Because life would be so much easier if you liked him.”

“Courfeyrac, are you seriously asking Enjolras to create feelings where he has none for the sake of convenience?” Jehan asked. Courfeyrac pouted at him. He rolled his eyes and turned back towards Enjolras. “I think the next step is going to be tough love then. We’ll have to confront him with the reality of the situation. He’s got to take some responsibility for his own emotional health, and he’s got to try to get over you. Otherwise, he’s putting his friendship with you at risk.”

Enjolras lowered his eyes, and nodded. “I can’t even stand being in the same room with him anymore.”

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Jehan shot Courfeyrac a stern look. “I think Enjolras has every right to his discomfort. Frankly, if Grantaire were treating me that way I’d have started avoiding him, and the rest of you if that’s what it took, a long time ago.” He turned back to Enjolras. “You’ve been very patient, dear, but you really don’t have to be anymore.”

Courfeyrac still looked confused. “Wait, have I been missing something? ‘Taire’s been throwing a lot of inappropriate jokes your way, yeah, but you return everything shot for shot. You’ve been holding your own pretty well.”

“Courfeyrac, he doesn’t just make bad jokes,” Enjolras said. He sat between Courfeyrac and Jehan on the couch and draped an arm across Courfeyrac’s back in an approximation of the way Grantaire hung off of him. He lurched forwards, so that he was barely an inch from Courfeyrac’s face and breathed hotly against his ear. “He makes them like this.”

Enjolras straightened up, and watched as some realization dawned on his friend. “He knows I’m a virgin, and he uses my discomfort with my sexuality to mock me. And besides that, he gropes me. I have to be on guard when he’s around if I want my ass to remain unfondled. Which is most definitely the case. I hate the way he touches me. He makes my skin crawl. I hate it, just, just everything about it.” He took a few deep breaths. He was getting worked up just thinking about it.

Jehan squeezed his hand. Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair and mouthed a silent ‘wow.’

He stood up and started pacing. “Kay, so…so this is legit. Fuck. Jehan, I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

“We were planning on asking you to continue being patient just a little longer,” Jehan explained. “We want to get a sort of intervention together for Grantaire. Let him know that he’s begun crossing lines and that we want to help him get better somehow. But it sounds like you’ve already been quite a lot more patient than you ought to have been.”

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac frowned. “Shit. So you can’t stand being in the same room as him anymore? I don’t want to pick between you guys. You’re both my friends. This sucks.”

“Mm,” Enjolras murmured, because he couldn’t agree more. “For the record, I’ve never asked anyone to choose between us. I haven’t made any attempts to avoid our gatherings. I’ve attempted to give myself some distance from Grantaire, but that’s not the same thing. It’s my problem. I accept that.”

“It’s our problem too, because we’re not condoning this shit,” Courfeyrac said. “I’ll talk to him. I know ‘Ferre’s already been talking to him about his depression. He thinks helping Grantaire get into grad school might help. I dunno. Those are ‘Ferre’s priorities, but giving Grantaire a bunch of books to obsess over again might not be a bad thing.”

“Getting his loans deferred will certainly help. He’s not doing well with all that debt hanging over him,” Jehan said. He gave a little shudder; Jehan was only a year from graduating with a major in English and a minor in French. He was going to be in similar straits to Grantaire and didn’t expect to fare much better financially.

“Combeferre’s trying to help?” Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac nodded. “Yeah. He said he was getting really worried about you guys.”

“He was the first person to notice anything was wrong,” Jehan added.

Enjolras couldn’t help a small smile at that thought.

Courfeyrac stood to go and Jehan followed. “So I guess we’ve gotten through everything. We can end the home invasion and leave you in peace now, if you want.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He actually did have a lot of homework to get done, not least of which because he’d done next to nothing at the café.

Courfeyrac nodded. “So just to check, I can still, like, invite you and Grantaire to the same party and shit, right?”

Enjolras smirked. “Yes, of course. I’d appreciate it if you’d help me out when he’s being inappropriate, but I don’t want you to have to choose between us.”

“Cool. By the way, I’m having a party next week and you’d better show up or else I’m going to be forced to conclude that you’re lying to me now and I’ll never be able to trust you again.”

Enjolras scowled. “Get out of my house.”

“Goodbye, Enjolras.” Jehan gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then herded Courfeyrac out of the apartment. Courfeyrac gave one last parting shot about Enjolras attending the party, assuring him that he didn’t even need to bring booze with him, and Enjolras shut the door in his face.

He wasn’t actually as irritated as he let on. Sure, Courfeyrac’s social obligations were always poorly timed and tended to throw a wrench in his studying, but it would be nice to spend some time with his friends now that they’d shown some concern for his comfort. If his friends helped him mitigate Grantaire’s actions then going to a party might even be fun.

Besides, Combeferre would be there. Combeferre, who cared about Enjolras enough to burden himself with the task of helping Grantaire.

Enjolras set himself up with his sadly neglected homework, but he found his thoughts continually drifting towards Courfeyrac’s party instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all saw this chapter coming...

For some ungodly reason, Courfeyrac decided to have his party mid-week. Hosting a social gathering on a Wednesday night must have somehow suited his own schedule, but it made things difficult for some of his friends. Combeferre, in particular, was stuck in class until four thirty, then he had to run home and finish off the next day’s worth of assignments, which included a two hour reading and three response papers. He wasn’t able to even think about getting ready for the party until nine thirty, by which point he was hungry, tired, cranky, and used to getting ready for bed. He had a class at seven the next morning.

He was sorely tempted to skip the party altogether, but he’d given his word that he’d show up for at least a couple of hours. Not only had Courfeyrac made it very clear that he wanted him there, but Grantaire had asked him to go too.

They’d been working on some math problems in the library that Tuesday, when Grantaire hesitantly asked after Enjolras. Combeferre quirked a brow, and Grantaire muttered something about trying to avoid him and give him a little space but wanting to know if he was okay.

It had been the third time Combeferre had seen Grantaire sober that week. With sobriety came considering the needs of others, apparently. If he didn’t look so wrenchingly disappointed in himself, it would have been nice to see how humble and contrite Grantaire was.

“Enjolras is fine,” Combeferre answered. In truth, he’d thought Enjolras seemed a bit spacy and distracted the past few times he’d seen him, but it didn’t seem worth mentioning to Grantaire. Besides, it was a little odd, considering the level of focus Enjolras usually had, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

“Ah.” Grantaire started picking at the frayed edge of a sheet of notebook paper. “Uh…d’ya think I’ve irrevocably messed up being friends with him? Or do you think, like…do you think there’s still a way to save it?”

“I don’t honestly know, Grantaire. You should probably talk to him.”

“Kinda hard to when he’s avoiding me like the plague. I really need to apologize to him, but I don’t…I don’t know how to do it. The guy literally flees a room if I’m there.” He’d looked utterly defeated.

Combeferre closed up the books, figuring Grantaire was done for the day, and gave his shoulder a bracing pat. “Luckily enough for you, Enjolras likes to see the good in people. He believes in positive change, and he understands repentance, if it’s genuine. I think you should try talking to him.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Grantaire switched from picking at the notebook paper to picking at a hole in his sweatshirt. “Do you know if he’s coming to Courfeyrac’s party?”

“I think he’s going.”

“Are you going?”

Combeferre made a noncommittal noise. “I’ve got a lot of work due, and he always throws them on the worst days.”

Grantaire looked up at him with a sudden seriousness Combeferre hadn’t expected. “You have to come to the party. He’ll definitely go if you go, and besides…when I inevitably screw up my apology, you can talk me back to rationality. You’re good at that. Please, ‘Ferre? I’m begging you, dude. I need all the help I can get.”

So Combeferre had promised to go, and because he was a good friend he was hauling himself off of his invitingly soft bed to get ready for a fucking party at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night, crankiness be damned. To be fair, he’d probably have a good time once he got there, but until that point Combeferre was planning on mentally whining.

* * *

 

Thanks to Courfeyrac’s almost superhuman level of charisma he’d actually managed to attract a decent amount of party guests to his house despite his bizarre sense of timing. Combeferre had been expecting it to be mostly their circle showing up out of a sense of obligation, but as soon as he walked through the open door he found himself in the midst of a crowd with at least a dozen college kids he didn’t know. Joly and Bossuet were part of a ring of kids playing Cards Against Humanity, and he saw Bahorel chatting up a girl that might have been in one of his lit classes.

Combeferre continued on into the kitchen, hoping to find something non-alcoholic for himself. He was hoping for a glimpse of his host as well, so Courfeyrac would believe him when he said he'd gone to the party and was therefore really and truly his friend. Courfeyrac wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but he found Grantaire sitting at the kitchen island having a staring contest with a bottle of rum. Combeferre touched his shoulder, and the poor kid almost fell off his stool.

“’Ferre, hey. I was wondering when you were going to get here.”

Wow. Grantaire appeared to be mostly sober. Granted, his proximity to the alcohol wasn’t the most encouraging thing in the world, but still. None of the red solo cups on the countertop appeared to be his and he wasn’t in the midst of pouring anything. Combeferre chose to take it as a good sign.

“Sorry. I had a lot of work to get through before I could allow myself to leave for socialization. How’s the party been so far?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Same old shit. The party’s split into two factions. There are kids playing Cards Against Humanity in the living room, and just about everyone else is crammed into Courfeyrac’s room watching Disney movies. I was thinking of leaving soon.”

“Have you spoken with Enjolras yet?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen him. I don’t even know if he’s here.”

Combeferre was sure he was. He’d walked past Enjolras’ car on his way into the building. He took out his phone and sent Enjolras a text.

The answer was almost instantaneous. ‘You’ll miss nothing by skipping the party. He’s got us watching the Aristocats. It’s not even a GOOD Disney movie.’

Combeferre grinned. “You and Enjolras are in agreement about one thing, at least.” He showed Grantaire the message, and the kid let out an amused snort.

“So he’s in Courf’s room then? I wonder when he came in. I’ve been keeping an eye out for him. I, uh, I wanted to talk to him before I…yeah.” His eyes darted from the rum to a bottle of Jack to a pack of Sam Adams and then back to the rum. He nervously licked his lips, and then dropped his gaze to his fidgeting hands instead.

Combeferre sent Enjolras a text, letting him know that he and Grantaire were in the kitchen. He was careful to mention Grantaire specifically by name this time.

The return text was a few minutes in coming. ‘Did you want to come in here and watch the movie?’

‘Not particularly,’ Combeferre texted back. He waited a few minutes, but a response didn’t come. With a sigh, he tried again. ‘R wants to talk to you. He’s mostly sober and promises to behave.’

‘What does he want to talk about?’

“Are you talking to Enjolras?” Grantaire asked. “What’s he saying?”

“Hold on a sec,” Combeferre said, shifting a little so Grantaire couldn’t see his phone. He traded a few more texts with Enjolras, doing his best to reassure the kid that Grantaire would be on his best behavior, and that he had something important to talk about.

The last text Enjolras sent him startled him a bit. ‘Will you stay? I don’t like being alone with him if I can help it.’

Combeferre frowned. He thought Grantaire’s apology would go over better in private, but he agreed anyway. If it was the only way to get them to talk out their issues then Combeferre could definitely hang around.

Of course, the booze table at a Courfeyrac party wasn’t exactly ideal for a serious conversation. They’d have to relocate once Enjolras joined them unless they wanted sporadic interruptions from party goers getting refills.

Enjolras walked into the room a few minutes later, and Grantaire let out an audible sound of longing. Combeferre was actually staring a little himself, which was just weird. He was thoroughly used to Enjolras’ dazzling appearance at this point in their friendship, or, he should have been.

Enjolras was trying a new look though, and it hit Combeferre differently. He had his gorgeous hair pulled back from his face in a messy pony tail with just a few strands falling artfully over his face. He was wearing tight jeans that featured quite a few strategically placed rips, an ancient, threadbare t-shirt that looked almost as soft as his skin, and a clunky assortment of rubber cause bracelets. He’d never seen Enjolras look so casual, or approachable before.

No wonder he’d been hiding from Grantaire.

“Hey.” Enjolras took a few steps forward. He kept his eyes trained on Combeferre alone, as though Grantaire weren’t even in the room. Grantaire shot out a hand and compulsively grabbed for the bottle of Jack Daniels. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Combeferre gave himself a little shake, then nudged Grantaire. He let go of the bottle with a loud clatter, then dropped his head and tried to curl further into his sweatshirt. “Grantaire has a few things he needs to say to you,” Combeferre said, inclining his head towards his friend. “Come on, ‘Taire. You can do this.”

“Can we go somewhere else?” Grantaire muttered, eyes still sweeping towards the booze.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras frowned. “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He started walking towards Courfeyrac’s porch, figuring that was the closest they were going to get to true privacy in a small apartment crowded with strangers. Combeferre half expected to have to chase some anonymous couple off of the porch when they got there, but it was thankfully unoccupied.

Grantaire slouched against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Enjolras leaned against the railing, keeping his gaze fixed determinedly on the city. Combeferre closed the sliding door behind them and then stood between his two friends, waiting patiently for one of them to start the conversation.

He had to give Grantaire another nudge to get him going.

“Uh…so, so the other day when I saw you at the café? Um…when you, I guess ran away from me? It, uh, it got me thinking about how…well, about what an unholy asshole I always am to you.” Grantaire closed his eyes in a grimace, talking more to his sneakers than to Enjolras. “I’m really sorry. You have every reason in the world to hate me, which I’m pretty sure you do, but ‘Ferre thought an apology might help at least a little. I take full responsibility for being an asshole and I’m going to try not to be such a jerk anymore. I’ve given everyone permission to give me a good whack when I get to the messy drunk stage now.”

“Have you thought about avoiding any kind of drunkenness entirely?” Enjolras sounded cold and defensive, which probably stung on the surface, but if he had his guard up like that then it meant he was trying to process what Grantaire had said.

Grantaire hissed in a quick breath and nodded. “If it were that easy I’d be doing it already.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science. Everyone else avoids drinking to the point of excess you always sink to. No one else seems to have the least bit of difficulty abstaining from sexually harassing their friends.”

“But no one else is in exactly the same situation Grantaire is in,” Combeferre interjected, since it seemed like Grantaire needed the help. His shaky breathing was audible despite the wind and the street noise.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire nearly whimpered. “I’m going to try to do better, but it’s fucking hard. I’ve got a dependence. I can’t just not drink at all.”

“Not all at once, anyway,” Combeferre said. “That would be medically dangerous, given the quantities you’re used to ingesting. I’ve noticed you cutting back though. It’s a good step. I’d like to see you continue.”

Grantaire looked up at Combeferre, painful in his gratitude at having been seen. “I’m trying.” Then, for the first time since they’d left the kitchen, he turned towards Enjolras. “I have had a really shit year and I handled the stress of it all wrong. I fucking lost myself wallowing in my misery and getting shitfaced all the time. It turned me into an asshole and I don’t want to be that asshole anymore. Please, for the love of everything decent, Enjolras, please tell me I haven’t killed our friendship. Some days, thinking of you is the only thing that keeps me going. You’re like the only light in my life right now. If I’m really careful and if I never touch you again, can we still be friends?”

Enjolras was silent for a long few minutes, expression inscrutable as he continued to gaze at the city. Combeferre was preparing to steer Grantaire inside and trying to come up with something to say to comfort him, when Enjolras gave a barely perceptible nod.

“I’ll give you another try,” Enjolras murmured. He let out a slow breath, then turned and faced Grantaire for the first time that night. “For what it’s worth, I’ve missed our friendship as well.”

“I’m really sorry,” Grantaire repeated. “And that whole whacking me thing if I step out of bounds? That extends to you too. By all means, kick me in the nuts. Punch me in the throat. Do whatever you want. Just please don’t hate me.”

Enjolras cut off what likely would have been a lengthy rant brimming with self-deprecation by gently touching Grantaire’s shoulder. It was a small gesture, but from Enjolras, who wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely sort, the hesitant pat spoke volumes. Grantaire’s breathing started to return to normal, but he looked like he might cry.

“So, so that was pretty much everything I had to say. Uh, m’gonna head back inside and not down that bottle of Jack. Fuck. Do you think they’re still playing Cards Against Humanity? That frickin’ game lasts forever.”

Enjolras smirked. “If nothing else, Aristocats should be nearly over.”

“Thank heaven for small miracles,” Combeferre said wryly. He made to follow Grantaire inside but was stopped by a hesitant touch to his arm.

“Actually, Combeferre…if you wouldn’t mind sparing me a few minutes, there is something I’d like to talk about with you,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire looked like he was in physical pain when he made his way into the apartment. He closed the sliding door a bit more forcefully than was necessary before stalking back towards the kitchen.

Combeferre was tempted to go after him and shoo him away from the alcohol, but he remained with Enjolras instead. Apology or not, being confronted with Grantaire like that must have been difficult for him, and it was a good idea to talk it out.

Something about Enjolras’ expression made Combeferre think this might not have been about Grantaire though. He looked a bit unsure of himself, a bit embarrassed. Curious, Combeferre moved to stand a little closer to him, not wanting to lose any of the conversation to the street noise.

“I suppose I can spare a few minutes, especially if it gives me an excuse to avoid singing cartoon cats. What’s up?”

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out. Combeferre arched his brow, thoroughly confused by his friend’s behavior, and then he noticed that Enjolras was shivering. It was a pretty mild evening, but Enjolras had been standing outside in the wind in thin clothes without his sweatshirt or shoes. He must have been freezing.

Without the least bit hesitation, Combeferre took off his hoodie and draped it around his friend's shoulders. Then he frowned, expecting some kind of rebuke for invading Enjolras’ space like that. The guy was really touchy about that sort of thing, but he looked oddly pleased.

“Thank you,” Enjolras murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Combeferre answered. A long, silent moment stretched between them. Combeferre spent it appreciating the way the light from a nearby billboard played over Enjolras’ hair, but then he started wondering what exactly they were doing. “Enjolras, you said you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Right.” Enjolras closed his eyes, steeling himself up for something from the looks of it. Combeferre felt a bit hurt. He’d thought they were close enough now that if Enjolras wanted to talk to him about anything he could just say it.

Actually, he was _really_ bothered by the idea of Enjolras thinking he needed to hide anything from him.

“’Ferre, have you ever been romantically or sexually interested in a man before or are you, that is…strictly heterosexual?”

“What?”

Enjolras looked like he’d just successfully accomplished some agonizing ordeal, meanwhile Combeferre was sure he was gaping at him like an idiot.

Enjolras elaborated. “It’s just, we’ve both done a lot of work for gay rights. I was wondering where you fit into the LGBT rainbow. Are you an ally, or…or did you have a more personal investment in this issue?”

Suddenly, something clicked in Combeferre’s head and weeks of uncharacteristic behavior from his closest friend started to make sense to him. He couldn’t help a soft laugh. “Enjolras, if you’re asking if I’d be interested in _you_ , you can just say it.”

“I’ve been trying to just say it for over a month. Trust me when I say that it is most decidedly _not_ that easy. Seriously. I have no idea how the others are so cavalier about this romantic horseshit. And they act like it’s fun. I think the whole business is vile.”

“Crushing on me has been vile, has it?” He was smirking now.

Enjolras seemed to realize what he’d said, and his cheeks turned the most endearing shade of magenta. “N-not entirely. Er, how long have you known?”

“I only figured it out just now. You haven’t been entirely conventional here.”

Enjolras’ brow creased in thought. He pulled the borrowed sweatshirt closer, entrancing blue eyes making a thorough study of Combeferre, searching for meaning behind his amused grin. “Well? You don’t seem mad, but…what do you think?”

“Honestly, the possibility had never occurred to me before tonight, but probably only because you’ve professed yourself vehemently disinterested in romance at every available opportunity in the past.” Enjolras’ blush managed to spread further, contrasting nicely with the annoyed crinkle in his fine brow. Combeferre continued. “Enjolras, you’re my closest friend. I couldn’t imagine anyone, male or female, more perfectly suited to bring me happiness.”

Enjolras’ face lit up in a smile nothing short of breathtaking. “The happiness will be mutual.” He reached out and clasped one of Combeferre’s hands in his. Combeferre used the other to stroke Enjolras’ silken hair out of his face. He leaned into the caress, eyes falling shut with a soft, pleased little sound.

One of them initiated a kiss, or maybe they both leaned in at the same time. Whatever the case, it was certainly the perfect scenario for a kiss; secluded together on an albeit cramped and dirty porch, but one possessing a fantastic view, a clear and beautiful sky, and their recently declared feelings.

It would have been better if Grantaire hadn’t been hanging over Combeferre’s thoughts. Rationally, he knew there was nothing wrong with kissing Enjolras, but it still felt like a betrayal anyhow. Breaking this to Grantaire was going to be difficult.

Enjolras abruptly ended the kiss. “’Ferre? You look kind of…kind of like I’m a bad kisser. I have very little idea of what I’m doing here, so if I am terrible now at least there’s a strong likelihood I’ll improve over-”

Combeferre cut him off with another kiss, this time wrapping an arm around Enjolras’ back to pull him closer. He’d worry about Grantaire later. Right now, Enjolras deserved his focus.

Enjolras was taken by surprise at first, but he relaxed into the embrace and let out a pleased murmur as he returned the newly enthused kiss. He tangled a hand in Combeferre’s hair, letting the coppery strands slide through his elegant fingers as he pressed closer to his new boyfriend. Combeferre could feel Enjolras’ long eyelashes tickling against his skin. It was an odd, but thoroughly wonderful sensation.

He chanced to look up between kisses and caught a haunted pair of blue eyes gaping at them from the other side of the sliding glass doors. Combeferre hissed out a short breath and tensed. He wanted to go to Grantaire, even though he didn’t know what to say, but Enjolras pushed him away from the door and almost aggressively continued kissing him.

“I’m not…not letting him…ruin this moment….’Ferre, please, look at me…Let someone else worry about him. Let him worry about himself. Please, please don’t let him take this from me.”

Combeferre was still staring at the door. He looked down at Enjolras instead, tenderly stroked back another tendril of wild blond hair, and quickly brushed their lips together. “I’m sorry. But with the way he’s been, I’m sincerely worried that he might hurt himself right now. Can you give me fifteen minutes to make sure he’s all right?”

Enjolras frowned. “And then what?”

“And then…well, neither of us are all that enthused with this party.” Combeferre reached down and squeezed his hand. “We could go back to my place and watch something. Or just make out on the couch, if you’d rather.”

That seemed to appease him. Enjolras leaned up on his toes to kiss Combeferre’s cheek. “All right, you have your fifteen minutes. I’ll be waiting downstairs, and I’m holding your sweatshirt hostage until you come back.”

Enjolras had a smaller build than him. It would make stealing clothes impossible for Combeferre, and ridiculously comfortable for Enjolras. He was suddenly reminded of a former girlfriend who’d stolen every sweatshirt, sweater, and jacket he’d owned. Based on the grip Enjolras had on that sweatshirt, Combeferre was in for more of the same.

He’d really liked that hoodie too.

He gave Enjolras another short, sweet kiss, felt a surge of giddiness and the newness of the act, and then set out for the kitchen, sure he’d find Grantaire drowning his heartbreak at the counter of booze.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the gap, guys. Inspiration just kind of fled on me for a few days after the last chapter. I seem to have tentative control over my muse once more, and a couple of days off in a row this week, so I'm going to try to finish off this bad boy and then get back to work on Careful There. I've also got some ideas for a CB&HSG one-shot involving Bahorel trying to parent. Should be a good time, if I ever sit down to write it.
> 
> Anywho, please enjoy my stupidly sappy and fluffy Enjolras :)

The living room was a lot less crowded when Combeferre passed through on his way to the kitchen. The Cards Against Humanity game looked to be finished, with most of the partygoers dispersing as a result. Bossuet was sprawled on the floor just in front of the couch looking at something on his phone, and Bahorel was pacing in front of the door. He was muttering darkly under his breath as he did so, which was damned creepy and might have had something to do with the room emptying out so quickly.

Combeferre shrugged it off and continued towards the kitchen and its stash of hospitable booze. It wasn’t unusual for Bahorel to try to pick a fight at parties, nor was it unusual for anyone with any amount of sense to shrink away from such a confrontation, so he didn’t think anything of it.

Then he got to a Grantaire-free kitchen that was short three good sized bottles of alcohol Combeferre knew he’d seen earlier. He frowned, then ducked into a small hallway with doors leading to the bathroom on one side and a laundry room on the other. The bathroom door was shut, and likely locked based on the way Joly was banging on it.

“Come on, R! Open up.”

“Fuck off!” came the muffled response.

Combeferre stood beside Joly and lightly tapped at the door. “Grantaire? It’s me. Can you let me in so we can talk?”

“Get the fuck away from me! Don’t you have better things you could be doing right now?”

Combeferre frowned. “I have things I’d certainly like to be doing right now, but I’m here instead. I’m here for a reason, ‘Taire. Please open the door and let me talk to you.”

“Fucking get lost! Get out of here! I don’t want to talk to you or anyone or just…just leave me alone.” His voice was raw like he’d been screaming for hours, but it had only been a few minutes since Combeferre had left Enjolras on the porch. Then he heard the wretched, wrenching sobs Grantaire choked out, obnoxiously loud even with the door between them.

Someone tapped his arm and Combeferre jumped. He’d been so focused on Grantaire that he’d momentarily forgotten where he was, or that there were other people around.

Courfeyrac snatched back his hand. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

“Excuse me?” Combeferre thought it was fairly obvious what he was doing there. He motioned towards the door, in case it actually required further clarification.

Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around his back and steered him into the kitchen. Bahorel brushed past them as they went, face set in determination. “Feuilly has five minutes to get back here with a tool kit before I kick that fucking door down. And honestly Courf, who the hell lives alone without a fucking tool kit?”

“I always call one of you guys whenever I need furniture put together for me, now leave it alone. Feuilly will get here with his tools, take the hinges off the door, and then we don’t have to sacrifice my security deposit to one of Grantaire’s tantrums, got it? Seriously, Bahorel, if you break down that door you owe me four fifty.”

Bahorel grumbled something rudely under his breath and went back to his pacing.

Courfeyrac let go of Combeferre once they got into the kitchen, snagged a solo cup from his counter, and started pouring a drink. “Joly and Bossuet said that this outburst was brought on by you and Enjolras finally getting your shit together and confessing your feelings and all that jazz. They said Grantaire saw you making out on the porch.” He took a slow sip of his rum and coke while Combeferre spluttered indignantly.

“W-we weren’t making out! We were just kissing. We kissed a few times.” And Enjolras had grabbed him at one point and shoved him against the wall, but that was only because of Grantaire.

God, that was a weird thought. Combeferre chose to ignore it.

“A-anyway, what do you mean finally? How were we _finally_ getting our shit together?”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “You guys have liked each other for kind of awhile, haven’t you?”

Combeferre started to shake his head, but then he thought about it. Even though he’d only become aware of his feelings that night, in truth they’d been developing for some time. Okay, maybe he had been a little dense.

He still didn’t think he was at fault for being blindsided by Enjolras’ crush though.

“Wait a minute,” Combeferre said. “How does everyone already know that Enjolras and I kissed? It just happened.”

“It happened in front of a giant sliding glass door. Honestly, dude. You had a crowd of voyeurs.” Courfeyrac took another sip of his drink, an amused glint in his eyes.

“I think there would have been obnoxious hooting if everyone wasn’t stunned senseless at seeing Enjolras, of all people, making out in public,” Joly said. At a look from Combeferre, he amended his statement. “Not that we consider PDAs to be characteristic of you either, it’s just…y’know. It’s _Enjolras_.”

“Yes, and your shitty timing now has Grantaire hiding in the bathroom with enough bottles to make good on a lifelong threat to succumb to alcohol poisoning,” Bahorel nearly-growled, stalking his way back through the room. He snatched a random, half-full solo cup off the counter and held it up in a sarcastic salute. “Cheers!” Bahorel downed the cup, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash.

“Oh don’t even. Enjolras rejected Grantaire pretty thoroughly well before tonight,” Courfeyrac said, rolling his eyes. “He’s in there because he’s a drama queen, not because of Enjolras and Combeferre. Instead of feeding into his stupid crush by pining over Enjolras like a creeper, he should have been trying to get over him. Then he could join the rest of us in being happy for Enj and ‘Ferre.”

“Oh yeah. Congratulations,” Joly said. He gave a few pathetic claps, but then his eyes darted back towards the bathroom and he started anxiously chewing on his lower lip. “Courfeyrac? Perhaps we ought to let Bahorel break down the door. I’m afraid that if we wait for Feuilly, he might actually get a chance to hurt himself.”

“Me too,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac sighed. “First, you shouldn’t be dealing with this shit at all. It’s not your problem, ‘Ferre, and besides that, you should be all fluffy and happy about your new relationship. Secondly, I am only letting Bahorel break down that door if you guys give me four hundred and fifty dollars.”

Bahorel walked up to Courfeyrac, pointedly glanced down at him, as he was a head taller and much broader, and then strode towards the bathroom, cracking his knuckles as he went.

“Bahorel, I mean it! You break that door and you’re paying the security deposit!”

“I’d like to see you try to make me, shrimp.”

“ _Bahorel_!”

Combeferre and Joly wisely took a few steps back. A moment later they heard a deafening few bangs in quick succession, a violent cracking noise, and then the thud of the poor, abused door hitting the wall. There was some muffled, unintelligible cursing, and then Bahorel walked into the kitchen carrying a flailing Grantaire over his shoulder.

“Fucking let go of me, you son of a bitch!”

Courfeyrac, looking sick to his stomach, was trailing behind them moaning about his damaged property. “Why do I invite you to parties? My parents are going to kill me. I’m so fucked. I’m never getting that security deposit back, and they’re going to make me pay for it somehow.”

“Bahorel, let go of me!” Grantaire shrieked.

“I’m trying to, you squirmy fucker. Seriously, R. Stop kicking me or I’m going to drop you.”

Bahorel deposited Grantaire, none-too-gently, into a heap on the linoleum floor. Grantaire stared up at them, expression raw and terrified. He started scrabbling wildly across the floor, not bothering with attempting to stand, just desperate in his need to get away from so many eyes.

He was mostly hidden under the folds of his enormous and ugly sweatshirt, so it was difficult to see his hands as he scrabbled and slid, but their contact with the floor left streaks of red. “Guys…” Combeferre pointed at the faint trails of blood.

Joly and Courfeyrac were at Grantaire’s side in an instant. They each grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet, then walked him to a kitchen chair and forced him down. Courfeyrac roughly yanked the sweatshirt off of him.

“Joly…”

“On it!” The hypochondriac was already out the door, on his way to the loveseat in the living room serving as coatroom for the party. He returned a moment later with his backpack, which contained a good sized first aid kit.

“For fuck’s sake, R!” Bahorel yelled, eyes fixed in horror on the sticky mess pooled in his palms.

“It’s your fault, asshole. I smashed the fucking vodka bottle when you kicked the door down.”

“Okay, tweezers then.” Joly sat down across from Grantaire, a look of authority about him as he pressed the unhappy drunk’s arm against the table, flipped his hand palm side up, and began scrutinizing his skin for shards of glass.

Combeferre edged out of the room to check Grantaire’s story. He made his way around the kicked in door and scrutinized his surroundings. One of the missing bottles, still capped, was lying abandoned by his sneaker. The bottle of Jack, mostly empty, was on the floor by the toilet leaking out a steady stream onto the tiled floor. Red tinged shards of glass, probably remnants of the vodka bottle, were scattered here and there, along with sticky smears of blood and alcohol. He pulled back the shower curtain and found Courfeyrac’s razor still sitting where it belonged on a little shelf with his shaving cream and a bar of soap.

So the cuts were accidental and not self-inflicted. That was encouraging.

Combeferre still felt like shit, but it would have been worse if the cuts were self-inflicted.

He was about to head back into the kitchen when he felt his phone buzzing in his jeans pocket. He took it out and found a concerned text from Enjolras. Or, he hoped interpreting the message as concerned was accurate. ‘Its been more than 15 min. Where are you?’

He typed out a quick response, promising to be down soon, then went back into the kitchen. He found Grantaire flinching and swearing at Joly as he cleaned and sterilized the cuts. Joly looked about as pleased with the situation as his unwilling patient. “Dear God, R. What did you do, roll around in the glass?”

“I don’t fucking know. I was terrified because some dipshit ogre was smashing down the god damn door. Fuck me for being scared, I guess.”

Combeferre grabbed a chair, pulled it around to Grantaire’s side, and sat down next to him. He took his good hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. Grantaire cast him a sideways glance, not quite sure what was going on, but ultimately accepted the comfort.

“He did get the cuts from broken glass and not a razor, by the way,” Combeferre said.

“The amount of alcohol he locked himself in there with is an issue,” Courfeyrac returned.

“’He’ is sitting right here.”

“And ‘he’s’ an asshole,” Bahorel snapped. “So who’s babysitting him tonight?” He narrowed his eyes at Combeferre. There was an exasperated tug to his lips. “The answer is not you, Combeferre. Seriously, why the fuck aren’t you with Enjolras right now?”

Grantaire winced, but it looked like he was wondering the same thing. “Guys, I’ll be okay. Just give me some space to breathe. For fuck’s sake, I’m an adult. You don’t need to babysit me.” Joly swatted at the cuts he’d just covered with gauze, and Grantaire clutched his arm to his chest, tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck! That was not necessary, shitwhale.”

“I think it provided an apt demonstration,” Joly said. “Grantaire, we’re worried for you. You’re not spending the night alone. You’re perfectly welcome to come back to my place with me and Bossuet.”

“You can crash with me if you want to,” Bahorel offered.

Courfeyrac nodded at him. “My couch is always open.”

Combeferre’s pocket buzzed again. He gently clasped Grantaire’s good arm and stood up. “I need to get going. ‘Taire…you’re going to be okay, right?”

He looked up at Combeferre, made eye contact for about half a second, then looked down at his feet and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Grantaire, I am so sorry.”

“I know. And I wish you weren’t.”

It was probably best to puzzle that one out later. Combeferre shakily wished him a good night, nodded at his other friends, and left.

He found Enjolras sitting on the curb a few feet away from his car. He was in the process of composing another text when he heard Combeferre’s approach and looked up. He instantly relaxed, a relieved smile lighting his face. “I was starting to get worried. What happened?”

“Grantaire had a meltdown. The guys are looking out for him though, and he seems to have calmed down some. He doesn’t seem mad at me, so that’s always a plus.”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow in response. “Is it?” He climbed to his feet, but the smile he’d been wearing vanished when he caught the look on Combeferre’s face. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Your friendship with him is still solid. I’ll…try harder to remember that.”

His expression must have betrayed him there. As far as Combeferre could tell, Enjolras was entitled to his discomfort around Grantaire. He appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to accept Grantaire’s apology and try to give him another chance. However, Grantaire _was_ one of Combeferre’s closest friends and it sucked to hear him disparaged when he was having a hard time.

This new relationship was going to be quite the balancing act. Especially since he couldn’t shake that awful sense of guilt.

Being with Enjolras wasn’t a betrayal. Grantaire didn’t even seem to think so, but something still felt off about going out with the guy his friend was desperately (in the worst sense of the word) in love with.

Enjolras looked troubled. His hand jerked forwards, like he was going to grab Combeferre’s hand or maybe touch his arm or something, but then he dropped it limply to his side. He sighed, and then turned and walked towards his car. “Did you still want us to go back to your place?”

“Yes.” Combeferre stopped him with a gentle touch. Enjolras turned around and regarded him warily. “You still want to, right?”

Enjolras nodded, tension evaporating on the spot. “Very much so.”

Combeferre smiled, trying to forget about the scene he’d just left and focus instead on his new relationship. The other guys would take care of Grantaire. It was fine to be happy, and to enjoy Enjolras’ company.

He got into the passenger side, and as soon as he was in his seat the fatigue he’d felt earlier that night hit him in full force. He found himself sleepily gazing at Enjolras during the drive, silently wondering at the fact that his best friend had just become his boyfriend. He’d never have expected it, even if it had occurred to him that the wonderful change was even possible.

Enjolras glanced at him out of the corner of his eye when they were about a street away from Combeferre’s building. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh?”

Enjolras looked amused. “You’ve gotten very quiet. Actually, you look nearly as vapid as I’ve been in your company the past few weeks. By the way, actually talking to you about my feelings seem to have cleared that unpleasantness up. Hopefully your mere presence will no long render me a gibbering idiot.”

“I thought it was kind of cute. You know, when I wasn’t trying to do my homework, anyway.”

Enjolras looked a bit self-conscious, so Combeferre decided to let it go. Or maybe he just didn’t like being called cute. It wasn’t really a very Enjolras word.

Enjolras took his hand again when they walked upstairs to his apartment together. Combeferre unlocked the door, and still feeling pleasantly dazed, went into host-mode instead of anything resembling romance. He started offering Enjolras different beverages out of habit.

Then Enjolras pushed him onto the couch, climbed onto his lap, and pulled him into a heated kiss. Any thoughts of taking Enjolras’ coat (which was actually _his_ hoodie) or putting on a pot of coffee fled in the wake of the urgency of returning those kisses.

Unfortunately, he really was pretty worn out. Combeferre yawned into Enjolras’ mouth and Enjolras pulled back with a confused look on his face. “Er…is that…?”

“Not you being a bad kisser. That’s me running on three hours of sleep more nights than not this week. I almost skipped the party.”

Enjolras’ brow crinkled with worry. “I should go then. You need to go to bed.”

“No, Enjolras…” Combeferre braced an arm around him, keeping Enjolras on his lap, and dropped a few kisses along his jaw. “Stay, please. I’m tired but…I mean, I could make that coffee. I don’t want you to leave. This is all so new, and I swear I’d be properly excited if I wasn’t running purely on caffeine and astonishment.”

“Astonishment?”

Combeferre’s smile was small, self-conscious, and infinitely pleased. “I’m just rather surprised you picked me. You must realize it’s in your considerable powers to attract any partner you desired. I can’t believe you picked me.” He threaded his fingers through Enjolras’, liking the look of the pale, slender digits laced against his sturdier, calloused ones.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever even thought of like this,” Enjolras said. “I don’t know when things started to change, exactly. I always admired you. First it was your intelligence. Finding someone that could keep up in conversation was such a needed blessing, but then…you’re so compassionate and just…good. You’re a much better man than I am and you enchant me.” He brought their joined hands to his lips for a tender kiss. “And right now you can barely keep your eyes open. Combeferre, I’d much rather whisper sweet nothings to you while you were awake enough to process them.”

“I suppose.” Combeferre made no move to let Enjolras go. Enjolras arched a brow at him and he felt his face grow warmer. “Sorry. I’m just really enjoying cuddling you, which is something I never thought I’d say.”

Enjolras laughed. “It is rather pleasant.” He wrapped his arms around Combeferre’s neck, beautiful face lit up with a perfect smile.

“You could stay the night.” Combeferre said it without thinking, and then mentally cursed. That was so not the right thing to say to someone jumpy about physical contact thanks to months of sexual harassment from a close friend. “That is, er, we’d just sleep. Hands in polite places the entire night. Forget it, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Actually, I think that sounds nice.” Enjolras looked a bit unsure of himself, but it didn’t last long. Not when he saw how flustered and embarrassed Combeferre looked. “’Ferre, I trust you. I know you wouldn’t pressure me to do anything I wasn’t ready for.”

That was such a relief to hear. “I really never would. I swear it.”

“You don’t need to swear. I believe you.” Enjolras reluctantly climbed off of his lap, then held out a hand. “Now come on. You need to go to sleep.”

Combeferre allowed himself to be tugged to his bedroom. He fumbled his way out of his jeans and collapsed into bed in his boxers and t-shirt. Some indeterminable amount of time later, Enjolras curled against him, having helped himself to a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

The t-shirt probably hadn’t been necessary, but then, the guy had already demonstrated a fondness for stealing his new boyfriend’s clothes.

Combeferre drifted off to sleep with one arm wrapped around Enjolras, and soft blond curls tickling at his neck.

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed in a mostly-pleasant haze for the new couple. Combeferre and Enjolras had already spent an awful lot of time together as friends, but now that they were dating they were nearly inseparable. Where they’d formerly shared a table at the cafés or libraries they studied at, now they found couches or armchairs so Enjolras could enfold himself in Combeferre’s arms while he read. They took turns sleeping at each other’s apartments. The workaholics found the prospect of sleeping curled around their boyfriend enticing enough for them to voluntarily seek out an almost healthy amount of rest each night.

To put it simply, Enjolras and Combeferre were flourishing in their new relationship.

Grantaire, unfortunately, was back to his downward spiral. In the flush of unexpected happiness, Combeferre had entirely forgotten about his promise to tutor Grantaire for the GREs, and not wanting to bother him, or really even talk to him at all anymore, Grantaire didn’t bring it up. He’d already scheduled a session to retake the exams, and he told himself he’d study on his own this time. As usual, he couldn’t keep his focus without outside motivation, and every time Grantaire intended to sit down and study he ended up secluded in his apartment with a bottle of whiskey and his laptop open to Enjolras’ Facebook profile.

It hadn’t exactly been pleasant, thinking that he’d never have a shot with the love of his life because the man was uninterested in romance, but it hurt in a dramatic new way to discover that Enjolras was entirely capable of being wooed. He looked radiant in the new pics he was posting.

Grantaire tried really, really hard to be happy for him. Mostly, he pursued Enjolras in the futile hopes of leeching some of his goodness and strength, but in his heart Grantaire did want the beautiful young man to be happy. He deserved the bliss he was clearly getting from his relationship.

But it hurt so much to realize that if Grantaire had gotten a grip on his demons and worked to become the kind of man Enjolras could have loved back, instead of sinking under the weight of his problems while selfishly clinging to whatever bits of attention he could wrest from Enjolras, it might have been him instead.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I always say that I don't like to make straight up antagonists, that I write with groups of characters in conflict, but that there's still a sympathetic angle and something redeeming about absolutely all of them. Not only do I find that method to be truer to life, I think it's more interesting to write and you get some pretty nifty angst and drama in the deal. That being said, this fic is really testing me on that. I don't even know how I feel about these guys anymore. Tricky subject, I guess. 
> 
> As usual, I'm curious to see what you guys make of my writing. I'm a bit hesitant about this chapter though. I want to throw out there that this fic has grown in scope on me. I'm still going to try to wrap it up soon, but it's already longer than I expected and the action and drama is still developing. So, y'know, don't condemn the characters too harshly. Enjolras in particular is kind of all over the place in this chapter because he's wrestling with some things and working towards some needed epiphanies. 
> 
> Also, please be nice to each other while commenting. I don't expect everyone to be in agreement on every little thing, but I'd like us all to be groovy and respectful while we disagree. Last chapter generated some discussion, which was by no means a bad thing, but it got a little tense and I'd like to avoid the tension if at all possible. The last thing I want is for people to feel ganged up on because of my shitty writing.
> 
> Thanks in advance for general awesomeness. I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to give me feedback :)

Enjolras could feel the weight of a gaze on him. Warm and content, he wasn’t bothered by the situation though sleep amnesia robbed of him of the exact recollection of where he was and who might have been watching him while he slept. He cracked his eyes open, and that feeling of warmth and contentment intensified when he saw a beloved pair of hazel eyes looking at him. Then he remembered coming home with Combeferre after that night’s meet up in the Musain, lounging in his living room with their homework, snacks, and Combeferre’s impressive music collection before retiring for the night. Enjolras had drifted off in borrowed clothes that smelled like his boyfriend, safely enfolded in his arms.

“Hey,” Combeferre whispered, soft voice raspy and sleep tinged.

“Hey,” Enjolras whispered back. He turned onto his side so that he was more fully facing his boyfriend. Combeferre lightly trailed a finger over Enjolras’ cheek, a goofy smile touching his lips.

“Go back to sleep, Ange. It’s not even light out.”

Enjolras hadn’t really expected to be the type to enjoy pet-names, but the natural softening of his nickname ‘Enj’ to ‘Ange’ infinitely pleased him. He wished he could come up with something as easy for Combeferre, but so far nothing had occurred to him beyond the abbreviated ‘Ferre all their friends used.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around Combeferre and draped himself over the man’s chest. He rested his cheek over Combeferre’s heart and let his eyes fall shut. “I see how it is. It’s excusable for you to watch me while I sleep, but when I try to do it…”

Combeferre ran his fingers through Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras could more feel his laugh than hear it. “You’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours and you look utterly exhausted. But stay awake and dreamily sigh if you’d rather. I’m planning on drifting off again myself.”

In truth, Enjolras was already halfway back to sleep. He nuzzled against Combeferre and let out a vague but pleased murmur.

Their pleasant moment was shattered by Combeferre’s phone. They both made inarticulate noises of dislike, Combeferre trying and failing to muffle his hearing by rolling against his pillow and Enjolras doing much the same with Combeferre’s t-shirt. “Turn’t off,” he groaned.

Combeferre poked him in the side. “You need to get off of me if you want the noise to go away.”

Enjolras forced his eyes open, if only to more strongly convey his disapproval of that notion. Tired as he was, he saw the logic in Combeferre needing his arm to grab his phone and end the obnoxiously loud ringing, so he rolled to the side. He expected to resume his former position once the bothersome device was switched off, but to his surprise and consternation Combeferre answered his phone.

“Hello?”

Enjolras smacked his hands over his face and groaned. As Combeferre sat up in bed, Enjolras reached out and poked him between the shoulder blades.

Combeferre ignored him. “R? Slow down. Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Startled and a bit worried by what he’d heard, Enjolras sat up and leaned closer. “What’s going on?”

Combeferre shushed him. “Wait, wait, slow down. Where are you? …uh, hold on a sec.” He lowered his phone and turned to Enjolras. “He sounds hysterical. I can’t tell exactly what’s going on. He said he’s around the corner though. Would you be okay if-”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, without hesitance despite the fact that he had no idea at all how he was going to respond to seeing Grantaire again. It would be the first time they’d spoken since the party. Grantaire had made himself scarce since then, and Enjolras hadn’t sought him out.

Enjolras had accepted Grantaire’s apology. He could tell it was sincerely given, and besides that, he wanted to believe it to be so, badly. But he couldn’t tell how he was going to respond to seeing his harasser again. Switching their dynamic back to friendship was going to take some effort, and Grantaire didn’t do well with efforts that didn’t produce instantaneous results. Enjolras wasn’t sure if their friendship was going to survive, and besides that, he was pretty sure the guy was mad at him for going out with Combeferre.

But it sounded like he was in trouble, and it sounded serious. Enjolras could suck it up. He didn’t want Grantaire to get hurt, and he especially didn’t want Grantaire to miss out on getting help just because of him and his discomfort.

“Combeferre, it’s fine. Tell him to come over,” Enjolras insisted, because Combeferre had definitely picked up on his inner struggle and was hesitating. He gave a slow nod, and held Enjolras’ hand while he resumed his conversation with Grantaire.

“Enjolras is here, but he says it’s fine. No, Grantaire, it’s _fine_. Look, if you don’t come over here then I’m just going to head out and start looking for you. You said you’re around the corner. You have five minutes to appear on my doorstep before I get my shoes and coat…all right. I’ll see you soon.”

Combeferre hung up, then climbed out of bed and went to his dresser for a pair of pants.

Enjolras remained in bed, but he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. He’d started trembling at some point, which was odd because he wasn’t cold. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Combeferre shrugged. He pulled his jeans up over his boxers and sat down on the end of the bed. “I’m not really sure, but he sounded like a mess. He said no one else was answering their phones.”

Enjolras glanced at the clock on Combeferre’s desk. “I guess it is three in the morning. That’s a little late, even for our friends.” He started rolling and unrolling the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing. It was on the thin side, but certainly not immodest. He’d have to tie the string on the sweatpants he was wearing before Grantaire got there though. They were Combeferre’s, and they had a tendency to slide down on him when he walked.

Combeferre started for the living room, but stopped when he noticed that Enjolras was following him. “Enjolras, I’ve got this. You can go back to bed.”

He answered his boyfriend with a pointed look, and kept walking. With a sigh, Combeferre silently continued on his way and went to wait by the front door.

Enjolras hovered by a bookcase near the front hall for a moment, but he felt oddly exposed, like he was trying to force intimacy by his very presence. Grantaire had called Combeferre, after all, not him. The guy was still trying to avoid him, and Enjolras wasn’t crazy about seeing him again, though he did want to help if he could. He retreated to the other end of the room and, realizing how tired he was, went into the kitchen to make some coffee.

While he was fussing with the coffeemaker he heard the cumbersome front door opening and closing, with much squeaking of hinges and dragging over floorboards. He heard Grantaire’s voice, undoubtedly distressed, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Short breaths and panicked sobs provided a background for Enjolras’ careful and controlled movements. He hunted out a couple of mugs from the cabinets and managed to find a third clean one in the dishwasher. He added cream to his and Combeferre’s but kept Grantaire’s black, then sugar for his and Grantaire’s and no sugar in Combeferre’s. Enjolras checked that his hands weren’t shaking anymore, then collected up the mugs and hesitantly peered into the living room.

Grantaire was doubled over with his head in his hands. His fast breaths all sounded with a pained gasp on the exhalation that was just shy of a scream. Combeferre was rubbing his back and speaking in that low, soothing tone that was like a balm for jagged nerves. Grantaire must have been in really rough shape to still be so frenzied in his actions while all that calm comfort was sitting just next to him.

Combeferre had talked Enjolras down from his share of panic attacks. The man was a living miracle.

“Grantaire, it’ll be okay. You’ve got too many friends for anything seriously bad to happen to you. We’ll help you get on your feet again. You’re going to be okay. We’ll all help you, I promise.”

“What’s going on?”

Grantaire abruptly stopped making noise, and that was somehow worse. He clutched his arms and shrank further, so that his head was pressing to his knees, only his messy black hair visible.

“Grantaire got evicted,” Combeferre explained. He continued rubbing his gentle circle over Grantaire’s trembling back. “His landlord dumped his things on the curb and padlocked the door.”

“Oh god.” Enjolras placed the mugs on the coffee table. Grantaire let out a whimper in response to the soft thud of them on the wood but didn’t otherwise stir.

Enjolras sat down on Combeferre’s other side, but cautiously leaned around him so that he could address the ragged bundle of clothes with the too-thin body shaking underneath. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. Combeferre’s right though. You’re going to be fine. You’ve got so many friends, and we’ll help you. Not least of which because it doesn’t sound like this eviction was entirely legal. Bossuet and Bahorel might not be the best law students in the world, but they’ll at least have resources-”

“I can’t-can’t-that won’t fucking work, okay? I wasn’t supposed to be there anyway. It was an illegal basement apartment and I haven’t paid my rent in s-six months and I-he told me he was going to, but I didn’t think-didn’t think…god. I’m so fucked. I’m _so_ fucked.”

Grantaire let out a few more broken sobs, then slowly sat up and wiped his face. Usually, Grantaire looked at least a little bit miserable but tonight that emotion was overwhelming and definitive in his features. His skin was splotchy and red, especially under his eyes. Normally, Grantaire’s large and crystalline eyes were his sole beauty, as even his habits couldn’t dull such a remarkable and entrancing shade of blue. However, at that moment that beauty was lost in swollen, puffy skin and burst blood vessels.

The poor, abused looking eyes darted to the mugs on the coffee table. “Did you make me coffee?” Grantaire asked, voice tiny and raw.

“Black with sugar,” Enjolras said by way of answer.

Grantaire looked a bit bewildered when he took his mug. “I didn’t know you knew how I took it.”

No, Grantaire never noticed when he succeeded in getting the attention he always craved, however minutely it might have manifested.

Combeferre kept a comforting arm braced around him while he took some small, shaky sips. His breathing was a lot more even, though with the slow and controlled effort of constant attention.

“I assume the bags you left in the hall contain your current worldly possessions?” Combeferre asked, once Grantaire appeared calm enough for questions.

He didn’t start shaking or hyperventilating again, but tears slowly tracked down his irritated skin. “I grabbed everything I could but-but most of it’s still j-just sitting there. Someone stole my tablet. Someone got my fucking laptop. I-I’ll never be able to…god, I can’t crawl out of this hole. I had comm-commissions I was working on…they were on the laptop. They…fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck.”

“Grantaire, ssh. Calm down. We’ll figure something out.”

Enjolras got up and poked his head into the hall. It didn’t look like Grantaire had been able to take that much with him. He saw a good sized backpack, a few overstuffed shopping bags, and a gym bag. Enjolras looked back into the living room, where Grantaire was once more in a state of panic while Combeferre patiently did his best to comfort him, then went into the bedroom to borrow a sweatshirt and find his car keys.

* * *

It took about an hour, but eventually Grantaire settled down. He was too exhausted to keep up the energy for that level of anxiety, but the exhaustion didn’t really resolve anything. He felt numb instead.

Combeferre set up the couch with his best blankets and gave him a pillow from his bed. He offered to sit with him, and when he was declined he insisted that Grantaire come and wake him up if he needed anything.

They’d both assumed Enjolras had gone back to bed, but Grantaire learned the truth when he was just starting to drift off and was tugged back to his unpleasant reality by the sound of Combeferre’s ancient, awful front door being pushed open.

He bolted upright and squinted through the living room archway into the front hall. “Enjolras? I thought you were in bed.” There was just enough light spilling in from the hall to illuminate Enjolras’ fall of curls, giving the impression that he was wearing a lumpy halo.

“I got your things off the curb. Your furniture is in my storage area in the basement of my building, and the rest of your clothes and books and things are in my trunk. We can get them when we figure out where you’ll be staying until you can get a new place.”

Despite the oversized university hoodie and the baggy sweatpants, Enjolras had never looked more like an angel than he did to Grantaire in that moment. He was sorely tempted to throw himself on the floor at the man’s feet, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t go over well.

In fact, something in Enjolras’ bearing made Grantaire think it was best to proceed with caution.

“Enj, thank you so much. You just saved my life. You’re fucking amazing.”

“Yes, well, um…you’re welcome. I’m going to bed.”

“You do that. You look tired. Oh, uh, thanks for the coffee earlier. And for being nice. And I’ll shut up now and let you go to bed.” The angelic look was entirely gone, unless you were talking about one of those badass and vengeful sorts of angels. Enjolras was back to looking like he wanted to murder him. Grantaire threw him a meek little wave. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Enjolras nearly growled. He dragged himself down the hall and into Combeferre’s bedroom. Not even bothering to undress, he flopped against the mattress, eyes closed before he hit the bed.

He reluctantly opened them again when he noticed that his pillow was gone. Enjolras made a disgruntled noise, and then Combeferre tiredly rolled over to face him. “Ange? Wh-where have you been?” His speech was interrupted by a yawn.

“Helping a disgusting pervert.”

“Huh?” Combeferre sat up. He was sporting one of the more intense cowlicks Enjolras could ever remember seeing. If he weren’t in such a foul mood he would have found it amusing. However, as things stood he was irrationally mad at the world in general and Combeferre’s endearing hair in particular was drawing an odd amount of ire.

“I went to Grantaire’s apartment to save what I could of his things. Guess what I found?”

Combeferre crawled to the end of the bed and started tugging off Enjolras’ shoes. “What did you find?”

“Myself. I found myself rendered in disgusting, pornographic detail in a variety of mediums. Pastels, chalk and oil, charcoal, colored pencils, watercolors, quick sketches, fucking Crayola crayons even. Grantaire’s dirty imagination knows no limits and will make due with whatever materials happen to be on hand. Well, one hand, anyway. I imagine the other one was busy at the time.”

Combeferre didn’t seem to know what to say. “I…doubt he ever meant for you to see them, at least. That’s something.”

“Is it?” Enjolras sat up so that he was facing his boyfriend. “Why on earth did he keep those horrible things after he apologized to me for objectifying me and making me uncomfortable? And why the fuck did he leave them on the curb where anyone could see them? Grantaire’s a good artist. You can tell from looking that it’s me and they’re…they’re disgusting and people have probably been picking them up and walking away with them. Combeferre, I feel sick.”

Still at a loss for words, Combeferre offered physical comfort instead. He held Enjolras in his arms, and that did help calm him some. Plus he didn’t have a pillow anymore, so resting against Combeferre’s chest was going to have to substitute. Combeferre leaned down against the remaining pillow, and Enjolras nuzzled against him, trying and failing to recapture some of the peacefulness from the early evening.

“’Ferre?”

“Mm?” He sounded worn out, and not just because of the late hour. Sitting up with Grantaire appeared to have taken a toll on him.

Enjolras continued anyway, because tired though he was, he couldn’t sleep with this weighing on his mind. “He’s only getting your couch for tonight, right? You’re not going to let him stay more than one night, are you? I mean, he should be able to find a different couch tomorrow. Someone else will take him.”

“Enjolras, can we talk about this later? I really need to go to sleep.”

Enjolras pulled away from him. He pushed up on his arms so he could peer at his boyfriend’s face. “Combeferre, I really need you to answer this for me. If he’s going to be staying here then I won’t be. You’ll let him know in the morning that this was a one-night deal, won’t you?”

“Enjolras, it is the morning. Please let me sleep.”

“I told you, I need this answered. Combeferre, please.”

Combeferre rubbed at his eyes. He was wincing. “If he can’t find another couch, I’m not turning him out on the street. And I don’t see why I should have to, either. I know he makes you uncomfortable, but if that’s the case then we can spend more time at your apartment and let him sleep here.”

“But he’s not going to want to be alone, and you won’t trust him to be alone. He’s got that history of self-harm.” Enjolras was surprised he managed to get the words out, with how tight his throat had gotten. To his greater surprise, he even sounded calm despite the emotional upheaval he was experiencing, not to mention the roiling in his stomach.

Combeferre sleepily flung out an arm to try to pull him into a half-hug again, but Enjolras shifted away from him. “Enjolras, come on…he’s my friend and he needs help. And I’ve been such a shitty friend to him lately. Was trying to help him…keep it from getting to eviction but I, I dropped the ball. I swear, I can be his friend and your boyfriend. Shouldn’t hafta choose…God, Enjolras, I’m so tired. Can we please go to sleep now?”

Enjolras climbed out of bed and started pacing. He tried to speak a few times, but the tightness in his throat had gotten worse and he couldn’t choke anything out.

Combeferre heaved himself into a sitting position and watched him from half-lidded eyes. “Please come back to bed.”

“I can’t,” Enjolras snapped, tone high and pinched. He started pacing more quickly, going back and forth in front of the bed. “I can’t sleep right now. Got to, got to think. Oh, fuck. Fucking hell, ‘Ferre. I can’t do this. I didn’t want anyone to have to choose between us, and I think I’ve been rather good about the whole thing, you know? Better than I needed to be, even. Rather than lashing out, I avoided him. Rather than giving myself the outlet of the sympathetic ears of my friends, I kept everything to myself because they’re his friends too and I didn’t want him to have to lose them. He seemed to need everyone more anyway. But this, this is different. I actually do need you to support me. You’re my boyfriend, Combeferre, and I really do need you to stand up for me right now. Grantaire has other friends. He has other couches open to him if he asks. He can ask them. It doesn’t have to be on you.”

“I’m pretty confident he’ll be able to stay somewhere else, I’m just saying that if for some reason he can’t-”

“And I need to you to say that in that instance you’ll choose me.” Enjolras stopped pacing and turned a pleading look on his boyfriend.

Combeferre dropped his head, avoiding eye contact. “I can’t make that promise. I’m sorry.”

To be fair, he did sound remorseful. That didn’t make it hurt any less, however.

Enjolras curtly nodded, then gathered up the clothes he’d left neatly folded on Combeferre’s desk chair. He went into the bathroom and changed out of the borrowed pajamas. As he passed through the living room, pointedly keeping his eyes averted from the heap of lightly snoring blankets and tangled hair on the couch, he grabbed his books and a few other possessions that had wound up scattered around the apartment. By the time he got back to the bedroom, his backpack was mostly packed.

Combeferre was sitting at the end of the bed again with his hands tightly folded, looking pensive. When he saw Enjolras fully clothed with his bag slung over his shoulder, wearing his own sweatshirt instead of one of Combeferre’s, he face crumpled. “Enjolras, what are you…?”

“I’m going home. I’d thought you understood, but clearly you don’t. Combeferre, I don’t feel _safe_ around him. Logically, in a distant sort of intellectual way I know he can’t hurt me and wouldn’t really want to, but the distress I feel when I’m near him is much more primal than that. And if I can’t count on you for support then I can’t stay here while he’s…he’s right fucking there. I’ve got to go.”

Combeferre stumbled getting off the bed, his long legs getting caught up in the blankets, but he caught himself and made his way across the room to Enjolras’ side. “Wait, please, hold on. Let’s talk about this.”

“We already talked. You picked him.”

“Enjolras, you said you didn’t want anyone to have to pick between the two of you.”

“That was before I realized how full of shit he is!” Enjolras took a few sharp steps backwards, putting space back between them. “He doesn’t want to get better, and I don’t think he meant a damn word of that apology. He doesn’t care about how I feel, or how you feel, or how anyone feels except himself. He just doesn’t want to get caught. He didn’t change a damn thing. He’s still obsessing over me and objectifying me. Those drawings prove that. If he really wanted to change he would have gotten rid of them. I have tried so hard to forgive him and really mean it and let this all go so I can move on but it’s been for nothing. And I’m sick of feeling this way.”

“I don’t blame you. You’ve…bottled up quite a lot, haven’t you?”

Enjolras weakly nodded. He felt tired in every sense of the word. “I need to go.”

Combeferre started walking forward, but stopped himself, clearly not wanting to intrude on Enjolras’ space. He looked lost. “You’re…are you coming back? W-we’re going to talk again before you do anything too rash, right? We can have a conversation when we’re both fully awake and less emotional before you decide that you’re…you’re…”

Enjolras suddenly realized what his actions implied and quickly closed the space between them. He clasped Combeferre’s hands in his and looked at him earnestly. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Oh thank God.” Combeferre let out a quick, forceful breath, a few warm tears sliding down his cheeks in his relief. “I thought I’d irreparably fucked up.”

Enjolras leaned up and quickly brushed his lips over Combeferre’s cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, ‘Ferre. I’m mad at you and we will talk. But I also love you and I’m not letting _him_ get in the way of that. I refuse to let him come between us.”

Combeferre wiped at his face and let out a strained sounding laugh. “Wow. Enjolras, that’s the first time you’ve said you loved me, and you made it sound like a threat.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. He thought back, and realized that Combeferre was right. He hadn’t said it aloud even though he’d been feeling it for quite some time. “Sorry. I suppose I should have been more romantic about it.”

“So you meant it? It wasn’t a slip of the tongue?”

“No, I meant it. I'm most definitely in love with you.”

Combeferre gently touched his chin and tilted his face up. “I love you too. And I’m so sorry for hurting you.” He leaned in for a kiss, and for a few brief seconds everything felt exactly the way it was supposed to. Even after he pulled away, some of that peace from the evening lingered with the pleasant tingle on his lips. “Go home and rest, Ange. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Enjolras nodded, then turned and left. And Combeferre futilely tried to fall asleep in his lonely bed with too few blankets and not enough pillows.

* * *

Enjolras didn’t fare much better than his boyfriend as far as restful sleep went. He tossed and turned for the four hours he managed to remain in bed, and when he woke up he immediately snatched his phone off his nightstand and started furiously texting Combeferre.

_I was wrong. It was completely out of line for me to ask you to choose. I’m sorry. I love you._

But he paused when he finished typing, and couldn’t quite get himself to send the text. Because if he sent it, then Grantaire would be free to stay at Combeferre’s and Enjolras was already breathing faster just thinking of that possibility. He deleted the text and tried again.

_I’m sorry about last night. I wasn’t behaving well at all. Love you. Call me when you get this?_

That was better. He wasn’t sure what he’d say when Combeferre called him, but he’d worry about that when he got there. Mostly he just really wanted Combeferre to see something reassuring from him as soon as possible.

“He really thought I was breaking up with him,” Enjolras whispered to himself. He rubbed at his eyes and took some slow, controlled breaths.

He’d put up with Grantaire if he really had to. After all, Enjolras not feeling safe around him was an irrational fear, and Enjolras was pretty good at conquering those. He knew in his heart that Grantaire would never hurt him, though the asshole certainly didn’t give two fucks about his comfort. But Enjolras was good with putting himself in uncomfortable situations. He argued with homophobes and bigots on a regular basis and always managed to keep his cool. He could handle a difficult situation.

He was not going to lose his boyfriend over this shit.

Feeling marginally calmer, Enjolras got out of bed to grab a shower and get dressed, all the while keeping half an ear on his phone for a reply to his text.

* * *

Across town, Grantaire was the only one up and moving in the apartment. At first he figured Combeferre and Enjolras were sleeping in. Completely unbidden, he thought of them in bed together, slumbering peacefully and in love, and was gripped with a wave of jealousy and bitterness that felt sickening. Then came the guilt.

Combeferre was one of the best friends he had. The guy was always there when Grantaire really needed him, even when it interfered with his own life. The previous semester, Grantaire had been feeling shaky and low, and not trusting himself to be alone he’d called Combeferre at two in the morning. Combeferre came right over, and they’d watched some bad TV together and talked until Grantaire felt more like himself again.

He’d found out the next day that Combeferre was presenting his honor’s thesis at eight in the morning, and he’d done so with bags under his eyes and enough coffee in his system to give him visible jitters. He wouldn’t have ever known if Courfeyrac hadn’t commented on how stupid he’d looked while giving his powerpoint. “The guy really needs to learn how to relax, and not stay up half the night tweaking a presentation that was probably already perfect. I mean, I’m sure he’ll still get an A, but he would have gotten one even without killing himself by over-studying. Sometimes a good night’s sleep is more important, you know?”

Grantaire had nodded, and proceeded to spot Combeferre’s coffees at the Musain for as long as the guy would put up with it.

And Enjolras. Grantaire owed Enjolras more than this stupid, petty jealousy. He couldn’t ever make Enjolras happy. He didn’t have it in him, and he shouldn’t begrudge someone else for being able to do it. He wanted to be happy for them, but it wasn’t fucking working and he felt disingenuous while he struggled to get there.

To distract himself from his guilt, Grantaire tidied up the living room, all the while trying not to think of the fact that Enjolras and Combeferre apparently shared a bed more often than not. At the least, Enjolras had seemed perfectly at home heading into Combeferre’s bedroom. He rinsed out their mugs from the previous night, and as the water from the sink splashed against his hands he wondered if they sometimes shared a shower as well. How the water would look cascading down Enjolras’ perfectly pale skin, flushed warm and rosy from the heat and steam. How that soft skin would feel with the slickness of the water. How that skin would feel with other sorts of slickness…

Grantaire gave himself a shake. “Stop it. Fucking get control of yourself, you fucking child.” He turned off the water and stuck the mugs in the drying rack next to the sink.

He was a little surprised Enjolras and Combeferre weren’t up yet. They’d both seemed like early risers to him. Curious, he crept over to the bedroom and listened for movement by the door. He heard the chime of a text message, but nothing else.

The door was open a crack. Grantaire gave it a cautious nudge and peered into the darkened room. To his great surprise, he only saw Combeferre in bed, and the guy looked to be having a staring contest with his wall.

“’Ferre? Where’s Enjolras?”

“His house.” Combeferre unfolded himself from the defensive looking blanket cocoon he’d been wrapped in and sat up. He looked terrible; drawn with shadows under his troubled eyes. “We…had a rather heavy discussion last night. He needed to retreat once we hit a certain point.”

Grantaire chewed on his lip, feeling like an absolute shit. “It was because of me, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Taire. It’s between us and you certainly have enough on your plate.” Combeferre stood up and stretched. Ignoring his phone and the text he must have heard, he crossed the room and opened the door the rest of the way. “You look like you’re feeling a bit better. Did you sleep okay last night?”

“Like a fucking rock. I think I kind of hit my max for bullshit and just kind of collapsed. I do feel better though. Thanks, ‘Ferre. It…means a lot that you’re always there for me.”

Combeferre smiled tiredly and gave his shoulder a bracing squeeze. “You’d do the same for me, no doubt, if I ever needed the help.”

If he could ever be the one to give support instead of leeching it up, he certainly would.

“I, uh, I tried to clean up the living room a little.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Combeferre walked past him, a bit zombie-like with his lurching steps as he headed for the kitchen and, no doubt, the coffee maker. Grantaire followed after him. Now that he’d significantly calmed down he was starting to feel hungry, and was therefore hopeful that his host might be preparing breakfast.

To his relief, once he’d set the coffeemaker Combeferre grabbed a couple of clean plates from the dishwasher and snagged a bag of bagels from a basket on top of his fridge. Grantaire contributed by seeking out a few clean mugs and setting the cream and sugar near the coffeemaker.

“Do you have any thoughts on what you’re going to do?” Combeferre asked.

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m heading into work today at two. Other than that, not really sure.”

“Have you called anyone else and asked about staying with them?”

“Uh…hadn’t really occurred to me.” Grantaire turned his back to Combeferre and focused his attention on the coffeemaker. He didn’t want to think about that shit just yet. He wanted to eat his bagel and ignore the fact that his life had gone to shit for a little longer.

“Grantaire…if you really need it, you’re welcome here. It’s just…things would be much easier if you could stay with someone else. Courfeyrac’s pretty good about letting people stay with him. He took in Marius for almost three months last time.”

Grantaire stiffly nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely. I’ll call him.” A tense silence stretched between them, broken only when the first bagel popped in the toaster. “So, uh, just to check…you don’t want me staying here, huh?”

“I don’t mind, but Enjolras has some reservations. But again, if for some reason none of the other guys can step up, you’re fine to stay here. You won’t be out on the street, so don’t worry about that.”

He really should have expected that. In fact, he’d earned it. It was his fault that Combeferre’s house wasn’t the sanctuary he’d depended on it to be in the past. That might have smarted like a bitch, but Grantaire couldn’t help but admit that it was entirely his own fault.

The morning had gone decidedly downhill. Grantaire and Combeferre ate their bagels and drank their coffee in an uncomfortable silence, facing each other at the table. Grantaire could see every worried crease in his friend’s normally smooth brow, and he had the perfect angle and lighting to fully appreciate the tired pallor to his skin.

When they finished Combeferre started gathering up the dishes, but Grantaire snatched them away from him. Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“What? Get your fucking hands off the dishes. You’re doing me a favor. I’m cleaning the damn dishes until I get my ass out of your place.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. I’ve got to head out soon. I’ve got a class in an hour. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire even mustered a smile for him. “Seriously, dude. I’m feeling loads better. I should be able to get my shit to another couch before you get back, and I’ll be working at the store until ten so you won’t even need to see me tonight.”

“For the record, Grantaire, I do like seeing you.” Combeferre’s eyes turned downcast. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I told you I’d help you, and then I dropped off the face of the earth when I got involved in my new relationship. I should have been there for you.”

“Dude, you’re always there for me when I really need you. And I didn’t exactly seek you out or come crying to you until I really fucked myself over. Don’t worry about it. It, uh, it looks like things are going really well with you and Enjolras.” Grantaire tried to force himself to smile again, but it probably came across as more of a grimace. “That’s good. I mean, I’m happy for you.” Which was a total lie, but he wanted to be happy for them and he could fake it until the actual belief took.

For whatever reason, Combeferre looked disquieted by his words. “Things…have been good, yeah.”

But Enjolras had gone back to his own place in the middle of the night, and that wasn’t the greatest sign in the world. Grantaire didn’t bring him up again, which Combeferre seemed to appreciate. The guy looked a little dazed and melancholy when he headed out the door after his shower.

Once more, Grantaire felt like a dick of a friend.

He snagged a bottle of vodka from his backpack, then flopped onto the couch with his phone and started texting the other guys, looking for a new couch for the night.


End file.
